


The Forbidden Ship - a collection of completed short stories

by NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 21,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tom/Volmione drabbles, short one-shots and WIP-outtakes. Different genres/ratings. Some with adult content, others without; therefore, if a chapter has explicit adult contents, there will be a warning in the chapter note at the top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restricted Section

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> The following drabbles, one-shots and WIP-outtakes are all unbeta'd unless mentioned otherwise.
> 
> When a prompt is mentioned, that story was written for a challenge at http://tomioneconvention.forumotion.com/f6-challenges
> 
> Despite the usages of the "completed" sign, there can, and most likely will, be future updates. This is after all a collection of completed stories. So, whenever I write a short one-shot or drabble, it'll be added here.

**Prompt: Restricted Section.**

_It was so easy. Too easy_ , Tom thought as he strolled through the Restricted Section at his leisure.

Everyone always did precisely what he wanted,  _needed_. They were all so abysmally stupid. All it took was a charming smile, a tilt of his head and some apologetic mumbling about needing to be there after hours because he had forgotten—As if Lord Voldemort ever would forget anything! –an important project that needed to be finished soon. The silly librarian didn't even blink twice before handing him the keys.

So now he had the area all to himself for the entire night. No stupid other students, teachers, or worse ... Candy Lemonbore to disturb him in his browsing. Finally, he'd be able to go through books without needing an excuse as to why he was handling such horrific titles. Really. If they didn't want students to read them, why have the damn books here in the first place? Morons. As soon as he were Headmaster, he'd make sure that students would get exactly those books HE approved of and nothing else.

His long, slender fingers slid across the book's spines.

_Read it. Read it. Read it. Oh!_

Interested, he pulled "The Power of Dark Animalistic Transfiguration" off the shelf. After skimming the index, reading the conclusion, he slid it back in the bookcase. Boring! As if he had any need to turn into a snakelike individual. Insane author.

Farther and farther, Tom went, tossing book after book into his schoolbag that he'd magically enlarged to hold much more than it would seem to at first glance.

"Secrets of the Darkest Arts", he read, smirking knowingly.

That one he wouldn't need anymore. He'd already expanded upon the theory in that book magnificently. He, a seventh-year-student, had done what no other wizard before him had achieved. Why he was bothering finishing Hogwarts was a mystery to him. They should give him his diploma with the highest honours and be done with it. He was already by far the superior wizard to those fools that taught classes here. Too bad he still had a reputation to uphold. He relished upon thinking about that moment when he could drop the charade and be who he truly was: The Greatest Wizard of All Time, Lord Voldemort.

_Hmmm... "Temporal Cloning"?_

Tom's fingers stopped at that spine. What was this?

He swiftly pulled it from the shelf and enjoyed the intricate carvings of several snakes that made up the letters on the leather cover. There was no author mentioned, just the title.

Snake letters, a book worthy of the Heir of Slytherin.

His hand caressed the cover, feeling the snakes move underneath his hand. An eyebrow raised, Tom looked back at the cover. Now, the snakes were creating new words.

_Was that Parseltongue?_

His mind formed the words that hissed from his lips subconsciously. When he was finished speaking, he turned cold to the marrow of his bones. Then, a pain-filled cry resonated through the library as he felt every cell of his body being ripped apart. This was so much worse than making a Horcrux, so much worse. He bend over, clutching the book to his chest, desperate to hang on to something, hoping the pain would stop soon. Perspiration formed on his brow; cold sweat dripped down his spine; he shivered, feeling positively feverish, and then, it was over.

Blinking several times, he straightened out. His eyes widened when a few feet away stood a perfect replica of himself, smiling smugly at him and raising its hand in a wave.

What the hell wa—!

He couldn't finish the sentence for the world started swirling next, twirling, dancing as if he were in some vortex. When it finally stopped, he stumbled into someone, dropping his schoolbag and his book as he crashed to the floor on top of a soft body and fell with his face into some big, brown mess of hair that fluffed all over him as if it were in attack mode.

"Eh, oye!" a shrill girl's voice shouted. "What do you think you are doing? Get off me!"

For a moment he remained still, waiting for his body to settle down and that nauseating feeling to vanish. Her hair sparked of magic, titillating his nerves. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He'd never experienced a girl who had hair that reeked of magic.

"Are you deaf?"

Her tone was now a lot lower and infinitely more threatening as irritation shone through it. He found it incredibly amusing. What kind of leverage did she think she had? He was on top of her, had her pinned down underneath him. She actually had a nice body, now that he considered it.

A devious smile erupted on his face.

Slowly, he moved, making sure to grind his body harder into hers as he lifted his face and stared straight into her brown eyes. He enjoyed the gasp that erupted from her throat and the way her eyes widened as she stared at him.

He'd never seen this girl before and, as Head Boy, he knew everyone.

"Hello, there," he said with a teasing undertone. "No, I'm not deaf, but as you may have noticed, I had a bit of an incident there beyond my control. I can assure you I had no intention to land my face into a hedgehog like you." His amused eyes flickered to her hair briefly.

"Beyond your control," she huffed in disbelief.

That drew his attention.

"Are you saying I landed deliberately on top of you?"

"You don't do anything that's not deliberate, Riddle." Her eyes darkened, and she repeated venomously: "Now, get off of me."

"Well, I feel quite comfortable here," he stated, propping his hand underneath his head lazily and staring straight into her hate-filled eyes.

Fortunately, he could feel her wand in her jacket's pocket. There was no way she could reach it since his body was in the way. Not that it would be of any use to her. Nobody bested Lord Voldemort in a duel. Nobody.

Alas, his wand was in his trousers' pocket, which was also out of reach, unless he lifted his body, which he didn't feel like doing right now because he liked the position of power he had over this insolent girl right now.

But still, this was interesting. He had no idea who this bushy-haired female was, but clearly she knew him, and from the look on her face, they weren't exactly bosom buddies. He sniggered softly at the idea of him having any buddies.

"Ow!"

His head swung sideways when her fist connected with his jaw. He barely recovered from the shock that someone dared to hit his almighty being when another punch struck his face, resonating through his brain. Anger rushed through him, and he quickly grabbed both her arms, pushing them to the ground beside her head. Now he really had to make an effort to contain her underneath him because she struggled furiously. This had to end. He needed a distraction to get his wand.

Swiftly, he raised his head and then smashed his forehead against hers, hard.

Sweet Salazar, that girl had a thick skull.

Sparks filled his eyesight and pain resonated through his mind. It took him a couple of seconds before recalling he had a wand to retrieve. However, the sudden stillness of her body and her loud scream were music to his ears. He swiftly grabbed his wand. Triumph filled him when he looked back at her: Her eyes were watery; her face was flushed red; and her expression was of someone who did their best to control the pain they were feeling.

_Nice._

Torturing those who gave up immediately never was any fun. He liked those who fought back the most, and this one definitely seemed like a fighter. A worthy fighter, possibly, if that excess magic sparking from her hair was any indication.

"Now, my dear," he quietly said, feeling fully in control as he followed the contours of her face with the tip of his wand. "Let's find out what you know, shall we?"

He paused briefly, relishing in how pale she became, before he cast: "Legilimens!"

 

xxx


	2. Honey

**Prompt: Honey**.

Slowly, he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, witnessing how his action caused her to still instantaneously. Her brown eyes widened, her face flushed furiously and her hair crackled with energy. Amused by this, his long, pale fingers slid into those brown curls, feeling the surplus magic titillate his senses. She had no idea how powerful she truly was. She'd no idea how much her hair was a dead giveaway to her true capabilities. He'd never seen someone so brilliant be so insecure.

However, that suited him just fine. Some day that power would serve only him. And now, he would take the first step towards achieving that goal.

His hand moved to the back of her head, tilting it slightly, while his other arm sneaked around her waist, pulling her firmly against his lean body. She gasped in surprise, and he didn't let that wonderful opportunity go to waste. He captured her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly. Her response was hesitant as if she were holding herself back.

For a moment, he felt her hands at his waist, but then, they were gone again as if she were berating herself for her actions. He tightened his hold on her body, forcing her to acknowledge his strength as he could now feel every curve of her against him. It spiked his temperature, made the class room seem like it were on fire. He relished at the slight tremble that ran through her and the subsequent moan that escaped her mouth as he deepened the kiss, exploring her at his leisure.

She tasted of the honey she had for breakfast this morning.

xxx


	3. Soy Sauce

**Prompt: Soy Sauce**

He was like a shadow floating in the dark; a presence unseen yet so pervasive and powerful you couldn't miss it. Unnerved, Hermione looked around the Great Hall. Yet, she seemed to be the only one affected by this darkness—this black abyss that you couldn't see but slowly drew you in.

Laughing faces, chattering students were everywhere. Ginny and Harry had sneaked out mere moments ago. Across from her sat Ron, happily stuffing his face full with a Japanese fish and noodles dish, soy sauce leaking from the corner of his mouth. Disgusted, Hermione looked away. Why had she ever been upset that he'd dated Lavender? They deserved each other.

Like a cold wind, something brushed her frizzy curls at the back of her head. Shocked, her hand flashed there, feeling nothing but her risen hair and a reminiscence of ... energy? Magic?

Static electricity, she decided, telling herself to stop being crazy. Nobody was here. She was perfectly safe at Hogwarts.

A soft chuckle vibrated through her mind.

"Did you hear that?" she asked Ron.

"Mearwat?" he retorted with his mouth full.

"Oh never mind," she replied, irritated, flying to her feet and storming out.

As she walked up the deserted stairs, she slowly began to realise isolating herself might not have been a good idea, for that pervasive darkness she'd sensed before seemed to grow and solidify around her, cocooning her in.

Hermione began to run. _Hard._

A high-pitched, cold laughter followed her.

Then, just as she was about to reach the top of the stairs, they started turning.

"No!" she shouted desperately, seeing the painting of the Fat Lady getting out of her reach.

Her wand out now, she held onto the railing tightly, until the stairs came to an abrupt stop in front of an ancient door carved with runes. She soooowasn't going in there; however, when she turned around to walk down the stairs, the door reappeared in front of her.

No matter where she turned to, it was there. She tried destroying it, vanishing it, blowing it up, but nothing worked. Well, someone would miss her. So, Hermione sat down, waiting. And then, she waited some more and more and more. She fell asleep on those steps; her stomach started growling in hunger; she had to pee, but she resisted. She'd be missed. They'd find her. Professor Dumbledore would find her. Harry would find her.

"Are you sure, little girl?" his quiet voice floated around her, sniggering ever so softly. "Your bones can decay here, and they'd never know."

Hermione didn't give up. She sat there, moved to the left side of the step to pee and slowly began losing track of time.

"I have food for you, stubborn, silly Gryffindor; perhaps you'd like some rice with soy sauce like your lover?" the voice mocked.

She ignored him, ignored her situation, ignored her hunger, her thirst, the needs of her bowels, until it became impossible. Her stomach cramps had become so pervasive; she couldn't keep it in anymore. Unlike peeing, she just couldn't see herself emptying her bowels in this narrow space as well. In a hurry, she stood up, feeling slightly dizzy for a moment before turning the doorknob and running inside in a panic.

He just calmly sat there in a luxurious arm chair; his black cloak flowing around him like a dark halo. His face was stark-white, eyes bright red, a nose as flat as a snake's with slits-for-nostrils and a lipless mouth that curved into a vicious smirk at seeing her distress.

"The loo is over there," he said quietly, his spidery finger pointing to a door on her right.

Hermione didn't need telling twice, she ran.

xxx


	4. Aurora Borealis

**Prompt: Aurora Borealis**

He strolled quietly across the empty world; this was his domain, his trophy. Decades of terror and death had resulted in this: silence.

Blissful, everlasting silence.

No more insignificant chatter, no more silly questions, and no more failures of those too stupid to understand even the simplest of tasks he gave them. Victory was his. He was the last human left standing, and standing he would: forever.

However, his current environment was somewhat disappointing. This forest was clearly planted by Muggles; the distance between the trees was just too regular for it to be nature's doing. He hated everything Muggle with a vengeance.

Lord Voldemort tilted his head back; his slits-for-nostrils flared, taking in the fresh air of nature. Slowly, he moved his hands over his bald skull, focusing his magic. With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared, raising it up to the sky. Words left his lipless mouth in a slithering noise of whispered hisses.

_Parseltongue._

For a moment, the bushy-haired witch, standing behind a tree, froze. Her fingers clutched tightly to the wand in her hand. Something stirred inside her belly; her mouth went dry. This was the closest she'd ever gotten. She should aim now and finish him. Unknown to him, she'd taken out his final Horcrux. He'd stopped protecting it after he thought everyone had died.

She had a clear shot. Two words. It would be over. Victory was hers.

Tonight.

Hermione blinked, her skin tingling as his strange, sibilant language wrapped around her. Light erupted from that infamous wand and filled the sky. Unable to resist, she tilted her head and watched. As a child, she'd been to Sweden once with her parents a long time ago to see the Aurora Borealis. This was a remarkably similar view. The colours were magnificent, filling her vision with awe. It was absolutely beautiful. She couldn't take her eyes of it; it was mesmerising.

So, she didn't notice the changing of her environment. The trees disappeared during a stream of bright-blue. Her mouth curved into a smile at the flash of turquoise while, underneath her feet, grass grew rapidly. A spiral of pink curved through it, creating bushes all around her. Orange came next, sprouting new trees around her. She'd lowered her arm, licking her lips ever so slightly. Never had the sky seemed so impressive. Never had she felt like this before.

At ease.

Relaxed.

Her muscles loosened; her wand slipped from her fingers, dropping to the grass without making a noise.

The amount of colours beaming across her vision was too many to count now. For the first time in a very long time, she felt happiness.

Joy.

Lust.

She swayed on her feet, feeling a burning need inside unlike ever before.

A single, spidery digit trailed over her neck, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. Strong fingers grasped the base of her neck, curving around her spine ruthlessly. A tip of a wand pressed into her throat, and she snapped out of it, her eyes meeting his red gaze in shock when she realised all she could move was her head.

"Well, what do we have here?" he taunted. "I thought I'd cleared this planet of all vermin."

"You forgot yourself then," she snapped, knowing this was the end.

A snarl erupted on his face and he leaned into her face, so close she could count the blue veins running through his nearly transparent skin.

"How did you escape my Total Eradication Curse?" he inquired; his high-pitched voice was barely above a whisper.

Hermione snorted. "Total, really? It was  _so easy_  to counter," she snarled, glad to hit his enormous ego even though that was the only target she'd strike tonight.

The corner of his mouth curved up. "If it were so easy, why are you the only one left, little girl?"

"Who said I'm the only one left?" Hermione bluffed.

Now his entire mouth turned into a big, frightening smile. The tip of his wand tracked her jaw, up her cheek all the way to her forehead. Hermione swallowed, nervousness hitting her full speed.

"Such lies may have fooled those weaker than Lord Voldemort, but I'm not ... a part of your old, merry, bunch of ...  _oh my_  ... 'Order' fools, Hermione Jean Granger," he said triumphantly in that sibilant voice.

Defeat was all she felt. Utter and total defeat. It was horrendous.

"How. Did. You. Escape?"

Visions of the past filled her mind's eye. Painful, excruciating visions. Wonderful, heart-warming visions. Everything she'd ever done. Everything she'd achieved. It was more than a blur; it was like reliving it all. The different emotions followed so rapidly that it drained her energy, made her positively exhausted. When he was done, not even his spell could keep her upright and she collapsed into his arms.

His scent invaded her nostrils, a delicious combination of masculine flagrances. She closed her eyes, inhaling it fully, enjoying it. She was too tired to berate herself for that.

Then, she felt his arms shift, curving underneath her leg and back, and he lifted her! Her eyelids flickered; through her disrupted sight, she witnessed his slit-pupils narrowing into tiny stripes contemplatively.

What was he doing? Why wasn't he killing her? He was supposed to kill her on sight. He did that to everyone. He'd done that to everyone.

Slowly, her body pulled her to darkness, to blissful unconsciousness. The last thing she imagined she'd heard wrong were:

"You're not everyone, Miss Granger."

 


	5. Red

**My example prompt for our Volmione challenge section: Red**

The world was dark around her; nothing visible but those burning red slits capturing her gaze ruthlessly. She was trapped, her wand gone. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They lost. Harry died. These red eyes would be the last thing she ever saw.

For a second, redness blurred her vision, giving her entire environment an eerie glow; then, all was dark as Hermione's flaccid body collapsed to the ground with an understated thud.


	6. Yoga Mat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: EXPLICIT, GRAPHIC CONTENTS!
> 
> This is NOT a fluffy smut scene; it's probably one of the most "gory" ones I've written so far. 
> 
> Adult codes: BloodPlay, Dom, MindControl, Corruption, Fingering, M/F, PWP, violence, gore, multiple deaths of unknown individuals.

**Prompt: Yoga Mat**

 

He’d become something short of an addiction to her, Hermione realised as she stared into those burning red eyes with their oddly slit pupils. Why else would she come back, time and time again, knowing that nothing she said made a difference to his plans, knowing that he’d not changed one iota for her, knowing that he still valued that insane prophecy despite her extremely valid arguments to the contrary, knowing that she was expected to undress the second she arrived in his presence.

 

Yet, here she stood, nude before that towering, dark presence; her head tilted back in order to maintain eye contact. He never allowed her to look away, no matter where they were. And she never knew where she was going to arrive when he summoned her. This time, she’d arrived in an unknown location in what seemed to have been a gym of some sorts. Her eyes quickly had taken in the large mirrors on the wall, the numerous colourful yoga mats on the floor, and the raw flesh, bones and blood splattered around everywhere, coating every inch of the environment.

 

Despite having arrived at an obvious crime scene, she’d undressed as always, almost mechanically—the thrumming of the Dark Mark inside of her sex fought off the urge to vomit and run. She’d been unable to avoid touching the remains, blood staining the clothes that she’d dropped on the floor, her bare feet soaking in it, sliding and causing her to almost fall, and the stench … the stench had nearly overwhelmed her. Just when she’d been about to perform a Disapparition, his magic had weaved over her, making her sway on her feet with the increasing desire its presence caused and taking away the apprehension and disgust she’d felt. He’d closed in on her shortly after, his black robes flowing around him like they were an intricate part of his body.  

 

‘You’re conditioning me,’ she whispered hoarsely—she always had such a hard time to think rationally when he invaded her personal space.

 

His seemingly lipless mouth curved barely visible and there was a brief dilation in his pupils that betrayed his pleasure. She wouldn’t have noticed it months ago. It was hard to read a face that was so inhuman and alien. The lack of a nose, the slit-for-nostrils, the blue veins visible in that nearly transparent, flawless skin, the lack of hair, that red gaze, all of it distracted the attention away from his emotions—not to mention that he was a Master at blank expressions. However, she’d forced herself to pay attention and nowadays she was very familiar with the true meaning behind his numerous poker faces.

 

‘You still come back,’ he said in that low, soft murmur he used only on her.

 

‘How could I not when I’m being conditioned?’ she countered, enjoying the feeling of his silk robes brushing against her bare legs due to the small draft in the place.

 

‘So clever,’ he whispered, stroking her forehead before burying his hand into her curls. As always when he did that, her hair fluffed out in reaction—magical sparks interchanging between them. She wished he didn’t enjoy the outward display of her hair so much; it always took days before it had settled back to its normal bushy state somewhat.

 

‘So powerful,’ he continued, tightening the grip on her hair harshly.

 

It made her feel weak in the knees and caused a shiver to travel up her spine, though not from the cold. Wherever they were, be it indoors or outdoors, he always kept the temperature insanely high. Maybe because some of his internal biology had altered to resemble a snake’s as well, and he needed it to function, she wondered.

 

‘Always so many inquiries about me,’ he mused into her ear, ‘I can’t help but question your motives behind it.’ Languidly, he drew his tongue over her throat before capturing her earlobe between his teeth. He nibbled on it, then, tucked on it lightly before letting go and meeting her eyes again.

 

‘You know everything about me, including my motives,’ Hermione replied, not fooled by his words. ‘I’m laid bare before you in every way: body and mind. You’ve placed your mark inside of me in a manner so I’d never be able to escape your ownership of me, and yet, you still insist to put my loyalties in question. It’s insulting.’

 

‘Is it?’ he asked, tilting his bald head. A vicious glint ran through his eyes and his free hand wrapped around her throat, gently squeezing before moving down and massaging her breast; her nipple already stood at attention before he even touched it. ‘We both know you’re not truly here with me  _for me_.’

 

‘Like you’re here  _only for me_ ,’ she sarcastically sneered.

 

‘Oooh, I’m most certainly here  _for you_  …  _Hermione_ ,’ he smoothly whispered—her name slithered from his tongue like a caress, wrapping around her like a snake. It made her lose focus for a moment, her pupils dilating as she shuddered before regaining her senses.

 

She opened her mouth and his hand forcefully grabbed her chin, stopping her almost immediate objections to his statement. The tension between them rose as he slowly drew his thumb over her titillated lips before pushing it into her mouth. Their eye contact intensified as she sucked on his thumb and then every other digit he inserted into her mouth after it.

 

‘You came to me,’ he murmured, trailing her body with the back of his hand until he reached that place she most longed for him to touch, ‘to save your precious friend from a destiny that is inevitable.’ A small smile covered his face when she, obediently, spread her legs somewhat to allow him access.  ‘From a destiny that you will assist me in. However, right now, you still want me to spare him, don’t you, my filthy little Mudblood?’ he suddenly snarled, his face contorting into a hideous, wrathful mask.

 

Sparks flashed in front of her vision; her knees buckled; her hands grasped on his robes as she collapsed against his body; and she couldn’t think anymore when, upon that question, he’d immediately curved his hand around her pubic region and sent a burst of his magic inside of her. It connected with the Dark Mark there and sent tingles throughout her entire body, raising her need for him to unimaginable heights.

 

‘Answer me,’ he hissed, yanking on her hair and putting her back on her feet to support her own weight.

 

Slightly dazed, Hermione opened her mouth to acknowledge his statements. Yet, already his fingers were moving through her curls, expertly stroking over that sensitive nub.  It was like he electrified her, sending sparks of pleasure straight into her core, and all she could utter was an elongated moan.

 

‘What do you want?’ he asked gently, breathing against the sensitive, wet skin of her throat.

 

She shuddered in response; goosebumps raised on her flesh, while her mind automatically focused on that burning need inside. With every breath she took, it became harder and harder to ignore. Suddenly, that awful, sickening smell of blood and meat was back, and she blinked.

 

 _Not here_ ,  _not among those bo_ —

 

He inserted a single digit inside of her and rotated it, stroking her inner walls while rubbing her clit with his thumb. Immediately, she clenched around him, wanting … needing so much more, enabling her to ignore the pervasive stench.

 

‘Please.’

 

‘Please, what?’ he teased, stretching his finger and touching the Dark Mark.

 

It was like he’d set her on fire; Hermione clutched to his robes as her loud scream of ecstasy echoed through the room. Yet, the blissful feeling slipped away far too fast; her hips pushed towards his hand, begging for more nonverbally, but he denied her the pleasure she craved. That pleasure that was now so all-consuming on her mind that the world could be falling apart at the seams around her and she wouldn’t have cared.

 

‘Please, please,’ she begged desperately.

 

‘What do you want, Mudblood?’

 

‘You, please, please.’ Upon seeing the displeasure flashing across his snakelike features, she quickly added, ‘Please, fuck me, my Lord.’

 

Those red eyes swiftly searched her face. Apparently pleased with what he found there, he pressed his mouth over hers, seeking entry with his tongue that she dutifully allowed. Kissing him was like being in heaven, like she was floating on top of the highest cloud. Once he started, she never wanted it to end. It seemed as if her body needed it to function, like his kiss touched all her senses; she could feel it all the way down to her toes as his tongue explored hers, as he pressed her body tightly against his, as she breathed the air from his lungs.

 

Her eyelids fluttered. This was the only time he ever was all right with her loss of focus and didn’t demand her attention. Her feet lost their grip on the slippery underground as he lowered her to the floor. Hermione spread her legs for him automatically, not considering why that yoga mat underneath her back was so slick.

 

Or so red.

 

White replaced black when he vanished his robes with a flick of his wrist as he hovered above her, his hand supporting himself beside her head whilst he sat on his knees between her legs. His skin almost gleamed in the fluorescent light of the gym; her eyes flickered over his strong body in appreciation, halting at his cock, which became harder and harder upon her attention. Subconsciously, Hermione licked her lips.

 

‘Look at me.’

 

Reluctantly, she drew her attention away from his cock, her eyes going over his belly, chest, throat, that deceitfully seemingly lipless mouth and the lacking nose until she made contact with his eyes again. That burning gaze locked her, stilled her in place. She was captured by it, everywhere she looked there was redness, swimming in her eyes. Even in her peripheral vision, there was redness she realised as he drew his hand through something red on the floor.

 

‘I’ve always wondered how this would look on you,’ he said barely above a whisper as he smeared a cold, wet, slick substance over her face.

 

A shiver ran down her spine as her mind briefly reconnected with what that was exactly. Then, her back arched off the floor and she groaned as his magic washed over her, cocooning her in and demanding all her attention. Her whole skin tingled in anticipation, desiring his touch first and foremost. His red gaze was transfixed on her, following the path of his fingers as they left behind a crimson trail of blood in the wake of his caress. He slowly moved from her forehead to her cheek, jaw, throat, chest …  before he began massaging her breast. Hermione gasped when he squeezed her nipple.

 

‘So fitting,’ Voldemort hissed softly, his fingers dipping back into the pool of blood around them and smearing it all over her belly. ‘So lovely.’

 

He spread her folds and began rubbing her clit with his thumb. The pressure began building and building; her face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure and her heartfelt groans filled the air around them. When she bit her lip subconsciously and drew blood, he growled, capturing her mouth with his and plunging inside of her simultaneously. When his cock made contact with the Dark Mark inside her, the world ceased to exist. The orgasm struck her in full force. There was nothing but the overwhelming whiteness of pleasure, filling her vision with only those two red spots in the centre. Her arms flailed over the bloodied floor before she caught a hold around his shoulders; her head tossed from side-to-side, turning her hair into a blood-filled matted mess, and his mouth was filled with her muffled screams of ecstasy as he moved in and out of her in rapid, forceful strokes, keeping her on the crest of that wave.

 

That night, he made her come over and over again as she slowly but surely stopped caring that she was fully covered in other people’s blood and flesh. It wasn’t until she hoarsely screamed out his name for the tenth time that he unleashed his load inside of her and pulled away, leaving her lying on the floor in a crumpled heap.

 

Exhausted.

 

Barely able to stay awake, she still managed to keep eye contact, as he always demanded of her. Blankly, he looked down, whilst he cleaned himself with a wave of his wand. His robes seemed to appear out of smoke as they reformed themselves around his body, settling around him as a second skin. He flowed in and out of her vision as he glided around her, squatting down next to her head.

 

‘My Lord,’ she whispered.

 

‘Hush,’ he ordered, stroking her forehead in an almost loving gesture. ‘Sleep now, my little Mudblood. Sleep, dream, and be mine more and more with every step further towards the darkness that you take.’

 

Her eyelids fluttered. She didn’t want to sleep; she wanted to say something to him. She wanted … to ask … him … to please … spare Ha…

 

Her head dropped sideways and her muscles turned flaccid as she drifted away into darkness, not noticing the cold kiss that was placed on her forehead.

 

‘Soon, you’ll kill him for me, Hermione,’ he whispered, satisfied.

 

He drew away, giving her blood-stained body one final, smirking look before Disapparating.

 

When she woke the next morning, all she cared about was how cold she was. Shivering, she crawled to her clothes, grabbed her wand and warmed herself. Then, she stoically rose, dressed herself and used a Cleansing Charm on her body and clothes before leaving without taking a second look at the reminders of the massacre that had taken place inside—the many yoga mats were nothing but a travesty of peace in a warzone.

 

xxx


	7. Exams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Allie, who is sick and has exams.

**Prompt: Exams**

 

 

She couldn't believe it; she knew that he was beyond competitive, knew he'd go to any lengths to win and stay the best student of their year, but this was just foul, cheating ... and so typically  _Slytherin_.

 

Hermione Granger glared at the empty classroom, not believing that she'd just missed her Arithmancy N.E.W.T. exam because she'd _overslept!_

 

This was no accident. Her eyes narrowed.

 

The whole Slytherin common room had been laughing at her when she'd come out of her dormitory with her bag on her arm and  _he_  had been the worst, sitting comfortably on one of the leather armchairs as if it were his throne. She still heard that lazy, fake disinterest of his drawl as he'd informed her of the time. She'd rushed out in a panic, ignoring the smirk on that obnoxiously handsome face.

 

"I wonder what Arithmancy theorem will support the awful grade one gets from not attending their exam," he said behind her.

 

 _Riddle_.

 

She swirled around, her hair fluffing all over the place as she approached him venomously. He was undeterred, leaning against the doorframe whilst his dark eyes flickered to her hair in amusement. She was sure that tall, dark and handsome act of his had got many witches to be distracted from whatever goal they had first, but Hermione Jean Granger wasn't any witch and she was pissed.

 

"You did something to me, Riddle," she hissed, pricking him in the chest, "and mark my words,  _I_  will prove it."

 

He quirked an eyebrow. "Why would I possibly bother?" he asked, smirking. "Anyone who can't tell what time it is will be quite sufficiently inadequate in their Arithmancy anyway."

 

"This isn't over, Riddle."

 

"Of course it is," he stated smugly, "and I've won."

 

"You've won one battle," Hermione said over her shoulder, "but I'm winning this war."

 

With that she paced away, not noticing the pondering expression Riddle had as his gaze followed her until she turned the corner and was out of sight.

 

Quickly, she made her way through the empty corridors until she was in front of Professor Dumbledore's quarters. He'd understand she'd been either hexed or poisoned and help her take her N.E.W.T. Headmaster Dippet was an useless, old fool who loved his precious Head Boy, so there was no point going to him. Hermione raised her fist and knocked on the door.

 

She was about to knock again when the door opened and Dumbledore stood there, blinking his blue eyes several times while yawning behind his hand. He wore a purple dressing gown over his pyjamas. HIS PYJAMAS! Hermione shook her head. Was he ill?

 

"Excuse me, Miss Granger," he said, rubbing underneath his pointy wizarding sleeping hat with his hand, "I'm sorry, but what can I do for you?"

 

"I missed my Arithmancy exam, Professor. I think I've been drugged."

 

"Your what?"

 

"My Arithmancy N.E.W.T. exam. I overslept. I never oversleep, never ever. And they all knew, and Riddle was—"

 

Dumbledore held up his hand, causing her to stop talking. "Miss Granger, do you know what time it is?"

 

"Yes, eleven o'clock," she squeaked hysterically.

 

"My dear, it's five a.m. not eleven," he said calmly, his eyes twinkling. "I think someone's been having some fun with your pre-exam jitters."

 

"Five?" she asked, her mouth slightly ajar.

 

Her eyes flashed to the nearest window. Indeed, now that she looked closer, the sun was still awfully close to the horizon.  _Anyone who can't tell what time it is ..._  That son-of-a-bitch. Anger rushed through her when she realised that he'd tricked her in the worst possible way and made her disturb Albus Dumbledore in the middle of the night for nothing! Her face turned beet red.

 

"I didn't miss my Arithmancy exam," she said feebly, still not quite believing she'd actually falling for this stunt.

 

"No, dear," Dumbledore said kindly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to this lovely dream I've been having: my very own lemon drop mansion, can you believe it?"

 

"Yes, of course, sorry to disturb you, Professor," Hermione said absentmindedly, her mind already going over possible revenge scenarios. Tom Marvolo Riddle was going to pay for making her look like an idiot in front of her favourite professor.

 

"No worries, Miss Granger. I'm sure you'll find something useful to do with all that spare time you now have before your exam," Dumbledore said, closing the door with a chuckle.

 

Oh, she was going to find something useful. She still had some Weasley Wizard Wheezes items in her beaded bag that had been left undisturbed. But no more... Tom Riddle would find out who he'd been messing with.

 

She held her head high and ignored the jokes and demeaning comments when she returned to the common room. She ignored them during breakfast, making sure not to have eye contact with that penetrating gaze sitting across from her. She even ignored them at the start of the Arithmancy exam, immediately unrolling her scroll and dipping her quill in the ink, though for a moment, from the corner of her eye, she glanced at the black-haired head sitting at the desk next to her. Riddle was writing vigorously and ...

 

**he was using her ink!**

 

Satisfaction warmed the cockles of her heart as she began on her exam. As always Riddle was finished well within the time limit and he leaned back in his chair lazily. She felt that dark gaze of his burning on her and she looked up, sending him a false, sickeningly sweet smile.

 

 _I'm finished_ , he mouthed triumphantly.

 

Any second now ...

 

 _Good for you_ , she mouthed back equally triumphantly.

 

xxx

 

He frowned at her, suspicion flashing over his face; then he leaned back again, placing his hands behind his head, uncaring. Crazy witch. She was clever and entertaining, though. Too bad about her disgusting blood. Suddenly, he sat up abruptly, grabbed his scroll and stared at it disbelievingly. The letters were vanishing. Every single thing he'd written was slowly disappearing. How the—?!

 

His head flashed to her.

 

 _Problem?_  she mouthed, with a mocking expression.

 

 _You did this_ , he mouthed, holding up his now vacant scroll.

 

_Whoops. Didn't know the answers?_

 

His gaze darkened at the fun she was clearly having, and he mouthed back:  _This isn't over, Granger_.

 

"Well, anyone who can't tell he needs to hurry because otherwise he won't have enough time left to finish is bound to be  _quite sufficiently inadequate_  at Arithmancy anyway," Hermione whispered victoriously. "Troll will be a good enough score for you, I think."

 

She turned away from him, snickering while continuing to write on her own exam paper. Blasted, sneaky witch. She was going to pay for this. It was just too much; it was foul, cheating and ... so typically  _Slytherin_.

 

"You may have won this battle, Granger," he hissed underneath his breath, raising his hand to get the professor's attention, "but I'm winning this war."

 

"Tom, my boy, what's the matter?"

 

"Professor, there seems to be a problem with my writing equipment; can I get a new scroll, quill and ink?"

 

That was the first time in his entire life that Tom Riddle had to work hard to get an exam finished on time.

 

xxx


	8. Light Bulb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: severe Deathly Hallows spoilers concerning the end of the series.
> 
> Additional code: Torture.

**Prompt: Light Bulb**

 

Fury.

 

Cold-blooded, overwhelming fury was what he felt when he noticed Bella's death. His magic exploded, blasting his three opponents off their feet, and he swirled around, aiming at the culprit. That disgusting, blood-traitoring, meddling Weasley cow would die. How dare she take Lord Voldemort's right-hand witch away?

 

"Protego!" He heard someone shout, and a silvery shield erupted between him and Weasley.

 

_Potter!?!_

 

He halted, diverting his attention to that obnoxious boy who just wouldn't die. His keen mind rapidly went over his options as the boy chatted on and on about ridiculous notions of love and forgiveness.

 

Sweet Salazar, Potter was worse than the old coot. Yawn.

 

Still, he decided to keep him talking, occasionally giving a meaningless reply to buy time. He was at a serious disadvantage here. Nothing he did seemed to work on the bothersome boy and he was completely outnumbered. If only he'd still had his most loyal follower, then—

 

His eyes fell on a bushy-haired female in the crowd and it was like a light bulb had flashed above his head. If it had hurt him to see Bellatrix fall, imagine how much it would strike Potter to lose her – the only one who'd stayed by his side throughout everything. Slowly, he circled in her direction. He didn't want Potter between him and her after all those misfires he'd had.

 

"Be a man ... try ... try for some remorse ..." Potter babbled insignificantly.

 

"You dare—?" he repeated, pretending to be furious about those silly words.

 

_Almost there._

 

"Yes, I dare, because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."

 

A victorious smirk erupted on his snakelike face, and he stopped walking.

 

"You won't ever need to search for the true meaning of that word anymore, Potter," he said barely above a whisper, yet his voice carried throughout the entire hall. "Let me show you what has backfired."

 

With a crack, he Apparated right behind the Mudblood. His arm flashed around her waist, pulling her flush against his body, and then ... he Disapparated before anyone had a chance to react, enjoying the absolute terror on Potter's face and the screams in the crowd.

 

They arrived at an old hideout of his, a magical cave hidden deep in the Scottish Mountains. He blocked the curse the little witch sent at him in a nick of time, quickly grabbing her wand-arm's wrist and yanking it all the way around. Her scream bounced off the rock walls as she crashed to her knees, having to bend her body to avoid breaking her arm.

 

He snatched her wand away with his wand-hand, recalling perfectly fine Potter had warned him that his curses wouldn't hold now. However, Muggle methods—no matter how disgusting—would do the trick, too. He planted his foot in her back and pushed while holding her wrist tightly. Her pain-filled cry was music to his ears as her shoulder snapped out of its socket and she landed on her stomach, completely incapacitated due to the pain.

 

"Incarcerous," he tried, watching satisfied how thick ropes tied up the sobbing Mudblood.

 

As he had thought, only the truly damaging Dark Arts spells would be an issue. Perfect.

 

He could kill her in the most slow and torturous Muggle way possible and leave her mutilated body somewhere for Potter to find.

 

Coldly, he squatted next to her head, grabbing her curls with his spidery fingers. She yelled as he yanked her head back, pulling her off the ground by her hair. Her tears fell more rapidly and she was crying a lot louder now.

 

"Silence," he hissed, annoyed at the sound.

 

To his surprise—because the pain had to be overwhelming—she swallowed a few times and composed herself, her brown eyes meeting his red gaze unwavering.

 

Impressive.

 

Sure, she was still trembling and logically afraid of what he'd do next, but he didn't miss the fury and plotting that occurred simultaneously in her mind. It was something he would've done.

 

This realisation turned his plans for her around by one-hundred-eighty degrees.

 

"You'll do fine," he decided, right before knocking her out.

 

xxx

 

** Author's Note: **

**Disclaimer regarding quotes I used, am not making money from and don't own:** Some of the dialogue sentences are direct quotes from JKR’s HP&DH’s end scene between Voldemort and Harry; those direct quotes are: “Protego!”, "Be a man ... try ... try for some remorse ...",  "You dare—?", and "Yes, I dare, because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."  The rest of the dialogue is my invention and the narrative is Voldemort’s perspective on what was happening back then—plus my little not-so-canon spin on it. XD

 

I hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story set in movie instead of book canon.

**Prompt: Hogwarts**

 

The castle at night was the most impressive thing in his mind. The darkness, the shadows cast by the candle light, the many unidentifiable noises, the whispers in the draft, it fitted him better than the cheerful place it was during the day. This was his birthright, his home,  _his Hogwarts_.

 

Confidently, he strode through the empty corridors. Nobody would be trespassing tonight. He knew every nook and cranny of this place, every spot one could hide to snog or do more undesirable things, and they all knew Thursday was when HE did his rounds. It was the respect he'd automatically gained from his fellow students. They broke the rules on someone else's watch.

 

Then again, those who'd dared to cross the path of Tom Marvolo Riddle the wrong way never would do so again. Myrtle could testify to that.

 

A self-satisfied smirk grew on his handsome face since he knew she couldn't, because he was by far the superior intellect and had not been seen by the silly Ravenclaw.

 

His eyes fell on the door to the girls' bathroom and he stopped abruptly, raising an eyebrow.

 

_Had he walked here subconsciously?_

 

Sighing in disappointment, he moved on despite that his hand itched to open the door and visit his pet.

 

Suddenly, a loud crash reached his ears. He swirled around, his wand already in his hand and pointed. Water flowed underneath the door in waves. Frowning, Tom stealthily approached the door, ignoring how his shoes became soaked.

 

Was something wrong with  ** _his_**  Chamber?

 

His hand fell on the doorknob. Loud coughing and water splashing came from the inside.

 

Someone was there?!

 

"Merlin's pants!" a girl's voice shrieked before coughing violently again.

 

He yanked open the door and stepped into the pool of water. His dark eyes widened at the disaster in front of him. What could only be described as a drenched cat sat on her knees, her arms around her chest as she was bent over, coughing up water. Behind her the sink slowly moved back in place.

 

That girl had come from inside  _his property!_

 

He quickly cast the Notice-Me-Not Environmental Charm that he'd invented after the Myrtle disaster. Nobody would disturb him this time.

 

"Who are you?" he hissed, pointing his wand at her.

 

When she had the gall to stay coughing instead of answering his almighty being, he swooshed his wand around. The aquamarine jet smashed into her chest, and in one gulf, all excess water poured from her lungs, leaving her breathless for a moment. Then, she slowly regained her normal breathing pattern, raising her head thankfully.

 

"Thanks," she whispered, looking around in a daze—her hand going through her wet mess of a hair.

 

That wasn't the only thing that was a mess about her, Tom noted. Her forehead was bleeding. Her right arm had a large gash on it from what clearly had been a nasty Dark Arts curse and she was completely soaked. Her thin shirt didn't leave much up to the imagination anymore as it clung to her body—a nicely endowed body if he had to hand out grades, and Tom Riddle had seen his fair share of nude females.

 

"Who are you?" he asked again.

 

She stared at him as if he were an idiot, as if he should somehow KNOW who she was. Her brown eyes flickered over his appearance in confusion.

 

"I'm - I'm ..." she stopped, staring at him in suspicion. "Who are you?" she asked barely audible, narrowing her eyes.

 

Annoyed, he pointed to his Head Boy batch. "I'll do the questioning here, Miss," he said with authority.

 

He noticed her knuckles turning white around her wand. "Riddle," she hissed furiously, "what did your bloody cup do to me?"

 

"My what?" he started, confused, when his eyes widened and he dove out of the way of the curse hurtling his way, whipping his wand at the insolent female who thought she could duel him.

 

A gong-like sound echoed through the bathroom, indicating he'd hit squat.

 

"Diffindo!"

 

His curse collided with hers, diverting the paths of both. A toilet bowl blew up on his left while wall-tiles blasted around on his right. That little witch knew and  _used_  the Arts. He would recognise that purple jet anywhere; he invented that curse two months ago.

 

"Imperio!" he cast next, watching her roll out of the way like a trained soldier and take cover in one of the booths.

 

"You can't hide forever, little witch," he said condescendingly, whipping his wand above his head and vanquishing all the booths. Nobody bested Lord Voldemort. Nobody.

 

"Expelliarmus!"

 

With a wide arc, Tom Riddle's body flew through the air before he smashed into the sink and collapsed to the ground next. His wand flew through the air, finding a hold in that little witch’s outstretched, triumphant hand.

 

"Thanks, Harry," she said happily.

 

Her face was positively smug as she approached him, her wand flashing.

 

 _Who was Harry?_  Tom Riddle thought before the world turned dark around him.

 

xxx


	10. Vengeance of the Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world ruled by the Dark Lord, one would prefer to be a serpent over a Muggle-born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Serpent In Red's birthday.
> 
> Warning: some graphic violence.
> 
> Characters: Lord Voldemort, Hermione Jean Granger and a red serpent.

**Vengeance of the Serpent**

Hermione had never run this fast in her life. She had to—there was a gigantic red serpent chasing her viciously.

_And _…__

_it …_

_wouldn't …_

_give_ _…_

_up_ _._

She panted, halting at a small clearing in the Forbidden Forest and looking around desperately. Her arm was throbbing severely from where the damn creature had bitten her. She'd been able to stop the venom from proceeding onwards; but if she didn't catch a break and shook this pursuer off, she'd lose her arm permanently. She could still move it, but it needed some serious healing. Soon.

If only she'd kept running and hadn't tried to kill the serpent, she wouldn't be in this condition. The bloody beast was impervious to any kind of casting. It seemed the Dark Lord had learned his lesson from watching Nagini's death and had protected his new pet a hell of a lot better. Even the Killing Curse wouldn't do the trick.

Well, Hermione assumed it would … if only she'd been able to hit it.

After several green misfires, she realised there had to be some charm in play that stopped her from striking down the serpent. Having to come to that conclusion was now costing her. She waved her wand over her arm to dim the pain and cast another barrier behind her. Then, she whipped her wand to the right. Hairs, little patches of clothing and some skin cells attached to the false trail she laid out there before she swirled to her left and ran, ignoring the twigs and branches that cut into her skin and swooshing her wand behind her to cover her tracks as she went.

If only she'd been able to use Apparition, she'd be long gone.

However, nowadays, if you didn't have a Dark Mark, you'd be a fool to try. There was something in the air, something that caused the best of them to Splinch so badly that after a few demonstrations, nobody was foolish enough to make an attempt anymore.

A frightened shriek left her lips as she came to an abrupt stop when she was suddenly confronted with a deep ravine right in front of her feet. It had come out of nowhere. One moment she was running through a dense forest towards that patch of light in the distance, and the next, her body was balancing on the edge of a cliff.

Hermione finally caught herself and staggered back, leaning against a nearby tree, fully shaken.

 _Heights_.

Nothing scared her more than that. She'd to overcome her fright of it in the past—she still recalled flying from Scotland to London on that damn invisible beast, which had been the longest trip of her life. It had raised her terror up so much more, despite being proud with herself that she'd done it. But it had been an absolute hell to do so.

So, it hadn't assisted her in overcoming her fears at all as many textbooks said it would. Instead, it had made her hate heights more than anything in the world.

A sudden rustling in the bushes froze her in place.

Well, heights  _and snakes_  … now there was a difficult pick. She really,  _really_  disliked snakes, too. Especially red ones, who tried to kill her, repeatedly.

Her head swivelled left and right. There was nowhere to go. She was surrounded by high rocky cliffs. There was only going back, towards that vicious animal, or forwards … into the ravine. Both choices held zero appeal to Hermione.

How had that damn snake found her again?

Hermione didn't understand. Nothing and nobody should be able to follow her with the spells she put in place. Yet, this red serpent did.

And it was doing so relentlessly, as if it had some score to settle.

Facing that snake again wasn't an option. It would kill her for sure, this time.

Merlin, where was Gryffindor's sword when  _she_  needed it?

Taking a deep breath, she whisked her wand above her head. Branches and twigs flew through the air in front of her, creating a makeshift bridge. It didn't look steady or safe for that matter, but she tentatively began to cross it. It wobbled and swayed from side to side, creaking with every step she took. She held on tightly with both hands, despite the pain in her arm. Her heart was in her throat and her palms were turning sweaty. The ground in the depth moved in her vision. Realising she was looking down again, her head swivelled up, focusing on the surface in front of her: the end of her bridge. Where she would be safe.

 _Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down_ ; she kept repeating it like a mantra, walking on as carefully as possible by testing the steadiness of the surface with every step.

If she made it to the other side before that red serpent caught up with her, she could vanquish the bridge while it was on it. That should be the end of it.

A viciously happy expression briefly flashed over her face as her imagination watched that damn beast plummet to its well-deserved death. However, that reminded her how far up she was and she yelped when she nearly tripped due to her brief lapse in concentration.

_Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down._

She was only halfway when she heard the hissing behind her.

_Already?_

Desperately, Hermione looked over her shoulder. There, it was. At the edge. Raising its body at her in an attack posture.

She wasn't going to make it to the end on time!

A stream of loud hissing exited the serpent's mouth before it slowly slithered onto the bridge, too.

_Merlin's pants!_

Hermione moved faster, no longer checking the security of the bridge and occasionally looking over her shoulder to see that serpent almost—

Was it smirking at her?

If she didn't know any better, she would've said it was taunting her now by going so slow. But this was just a snake, it moved on instinct. She was getting delusional. It had to be the unsteady bridge that slowed its progress. That wobbly contraption she'd created surely prevented her from running.

Again, she looked over her shoulder and shrieked in fear.

It was suddenly only a meter away!

She was out of time.

Her wand slashed through the air, cutting the bridge in half on both sides of the red serpent. As she held onto a branch desperately with her bad arm, she swung through the air, watching the bridge she cut plummet to the depths.

And only the bridge.

The red serpent hovered in mid-air!

_How—?_

Her head swivelled left and right when she spotted him, flying like smoke on the wind, a sadistic, mocking expression gleaming on his snakelike face. Those white spidery fingers caressed the wand in his hands before moving it downwards like a whip. She didn't even have time to conjure a shield before the branch she held onto broke, dropping her body into a free fall. Her high-pitched scream of absolute terror echoed through the ravine.

She flashed her hand to the side. It was empty.

_My wand! Where is my wand?_

Panic rushed through her. She was done for. There was no way to save herself. Not without her wand.

 _I'm dead_ , she resigned, tensing her muscles as the ground approached fast. It was solid rock. Hermione could already see all the details and cracks in its surface, realising soon it would be coated with her blood and mangled bones and flesh.

 _There are different colours in that grey surface; why have I never noticed that before?_  she considered inconsequentially.

She wrapped her arms around her head and closed her eyes for the impact, just seeing a shimmer of dark mist form underneath her before everything turned black.

xxx

A fire crackled in the hearth, warming the temperature of the dungeon to impossible heights. It was the only light source there, and thus, cast many moving shadows on the barren walls. On the floor an unconscious female lay, her body sprawled in impossible angles whilst her bushy hair stuck to her pale-white face. The only indications that she was still alive were the shallow movements of her chest and the occasional whimpers that left her lips.

If the Mudblood were awake, she would do more than whimper, he knew.

Languorously, he shifted in the luxurious throne-like chair he'd conjured, leaning comfortably to his left. Wearing his pitch-black, silk robes, he was barely visible in that dimly lit chamber: a darkness cast in shadows. What stood out were those burning red eyes with slit pupils and the extreme whiteness of his skin—it added to the atmosphere of doom around him. Though, he had to admit that the Mudblood hardly ever was impressed. She just couldn't keep that filthy, disgusting mouth of hers shut.

His left hand propped contemplatively underneath his chin as he took in the scene before him. She surely was a right mess now. He couldn't wait for that moment when she'd wake and realise her ghastly situation. That was bound to be a marvellous experience.

For him.

His eyes glinted in sadistic pleasure.

The only reason she lived on was because she provided him with such amusing entertainment, far more so than any of the others had ever done.

A soft hissing noise drew his attention, and he looked at the red serpent coiled on the rug in front of the hearth. It had been warming its body, but now, his precious pet had woken and was gliding towards him. Soon, they could play some more …  _games_  with the Mudblood.

'That was fun, wasn't it, Serp?' he hissed in Parseltongue as he stroked the snake's scales affectionately when it slithered up his chair.

The red serpent positioned itself around his shoulders, making hissing noises that sounded an awful lot like gleeful sniggering.

'Now … what shall we do to her next?' he asked in that smooth language, a phoney pondering expression on his inhuman face.

Serp had an idea or two.

And so it would come to pass.

Forever.

xxx


	11. Citrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: N/C (implied)

**Prompt: Citrus**

Tom Marvolo Riddle stared at it long and hard, narrowing his dark eyes to tiny stripes that flashed red in revulsion. Carefully, he pulled a part off, watching the juice flow through his slender fingers with a disgusted expression on his handsome face. He'd never, ever tried one of these before, and now, he remembered why. That damn juice was just too sticky.

Still, Lord Voldemort was never one to back down from a challenge, especially not when it came from some mocking, insignificant, obnoxious, babbling, Mudblood prisoner.

So, his Lordship was about to put it in his mouth when the realisation came: He'd almost forgotten to check it. With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared and he smoothly waved it over the suspect fruit.

"It's only an orange," Granger said, making a face. "Think I poisoned it by my mere presence? Oh, if only ..." she trailed off, sniggering.

How she was able to maintain that irritating demeanour while being chained to a wall was beyond him. Every single other person in this world bowed down in fear before him  _ **after**_  becoming aware of what he was capable of, but not her.

 _Nooooo_ , she always had something to say ... about everything! Even about bloody oranges. Why was he even considering this?

Abruptly, he slammed the fruit back on the table, squashing it fully.

"Does that mean I win?" Granger mocked triumphantly as he rose from his chair and glided towards her.

She was sitting on her knees on the concrete floor—her robes tattered and filthy—but that feisty spirit of hers remained untouched. It was something he enjoyed thoroughly, though he wouldn't acknowledge that to anyone, but there simply was no fun in breaking the weak.

No challenge.

Now, this witch—this disgusting, filthy Mudblood—was strong. He'd tear her apart inch by inch and enjoy every second of her resistance, until there was nothing of her left but the pieces of a once remarkable advisary.

And then ... he'd kill her.

Not one moment sooner. Not before she begged,  _begged_  for his mercy.

He stared down at her coldly. There'd been a brief flicker of recognition in those brown eyes as if she knew what he'd been thinking. He hated how clever she was. Too clever for such despicable blood.

"I don't like oranges," he said quietly whilst he squatted down, placing his pale hand beside her head and allowing his black robes to fall around her as if he were engulfing her. Despite his new posture, he was still towering over her tiny frame, and to unnerve her further, he twirled his yew wand demonstratively around between his fingers.

She swallowed, ever so briefly, but he'd spotted it nevertheless and the corner of his mouth curved up in a vicious smirk.

"Well, that's the point of a dare," she snarled, recovering far too quickly to his taste, "you do something you don't like to do—in this case eat an orange—otherwise ... you ...  _lose_." The last word was spoken ever so sweetly, and thus, ever so viciously, too.

He merely snorted at her antics.

"Lord Voldemort never loses, Mudblood," he whispered, placing the tip of his wand in the hollow of her throat. "Your dare didn't specify I should eat an orange, silly girl."

He leaned in, his dark locks tickling her cheek as he brushed her ear with his breath while his wand trailed down over her body, vanquishing her robes.

"And I much more prefer a lemon."

xxx


	12. Amortentia

**Prompt: Amortentia**

 

It felt like she was floating on the highest cloud. Marvellous. Her face wore that dazed, lovesick expression as she hung on to him for dear life. She'd never let go. He was magnificent, her world, her everything.

 

She never thought she'd be able to touch him for real. He'd been speaking to her in the softest of whispers for months now. She'd brushed him off in the beginning, told him to shut up.

 

How wrong she'd been.

 

How rude, too.

 

Gradually, she began to see the errors of her ways as he taught her secrets of magic she'd never known existed. Realisation set in that her fear of being not as clever as everyone always claimed her to be became a reality when he showed her how ignorant she truly was, how much she didn't know. She turned quieter and quieter, getting annoyed with Harry and Ron's bickering. They knew nothing; they were getting nowhere, and she was unable to help because she was worthless, too.

 

Then, Ron ran, breaking her down to tears.

 

How could he just leave her? Again.

 

 _You're nothing but a toy to him, someone to use and toss away_ , the voice in the locket hissed venomously in her mind.

 

She knew it to be true and hugged her legs to her chest, sobbing as softly as possible so Harry wouldn't wake.

 

 _You can show him; you_ _ **should**_ _show him_ , Riddle commanded.  _You got all the ingredients in your bag; unless you're too incompetent to make that, too?_

 

She stood up in a daze and walked back in the tent, watching Harry toss and turn and mutter something incomprehensible in his dream as she took her bag from her bunk. Quietly, she walked outside again. She had to be on gua—make this potion.

 

Yesssss, this potion needed making.

 

A vicious smirk, nothing like any expression she'd ever worn, distorted her face and her brown eyes flashed red as she began preparing the ingredients.

 

Soon, a cauldron was simmering above a crackling fire. Steam rose in spirals from the mother-of-pearl sheen surface of the potion. Her nostrils flared as the scent entered. Freshly mown grass, new parchment and ...  _was that cat hair?_

 

Abruptly, she swayed on the spot, her eyes turning back to their usual brown softness.

 

What was she doing? Confused, she looked around. Why was there a cauldron simmering?

 

Hermione leaned forward, staring at the colour as she breathed in the vapours. Freshly mown grass, new parchment and ...  _was that the smell of a snake?_

 

No! She didn't smell  _him_  when looking at Amortentia. Why was that brewed anyway? She hadn't ... Had he?

 

Anger filled her.

 

It was the wrong emotion. Her eyes flashed red and she abruptly reached into her bag, taking out her mug. She dipped it into the potion and moved it to her lips.

 

 _You're not escaping me now, Mudblood_ , he hissed, right before tipping the mug and swallowing it all.

 

As the potion rushed through her system, the gems on the locket began to glow, brighter and brighter. It emitted a beam of light, showing the outline of a tall figure standing next to her kneeling form. She wanted that person so badly. He had to be here with her. Forever.

 

The more she desired it, the clearer he became. She saw his jet-black hair framing his pale, handsome face, the burn in those dark eyes occasionally shifting to red, his straight nose, those full lips, that strong jawline, those flowing, black robes that made his skin seem even paler—every detail of him she absorbed without question.

 

He was here!

 

WITH HER!

 

His tall, skinny figure towered over her and she craned her neck, looking up at him with obsession. She wanted him.

 

He smiled.

 

It was so beautiful; she almost wept.

 

"Give me your wand," he said in a smooth, sibilant voice.

 

She loved that voice; she'd do everything for that voice.

 

Without hesitation, she held out her wand to him, relishing the moment when his long fingers brushed hers as he took it.

 

She hoped he'd touch her again. Soon.

 

He stroked the wood contemplatively, almost caressing it like a long lost lover. She wished she were her wand now.

 

"Vine," he said barely above a whisper.

 

She nodded.

 

"And?"

 

"Dragon heartstring core," she added hoarsely.

 

He was talking to her! He acknowledged her existence!

 

"It'll do," he muttered, waving it around as a test and conjuring several bubbles.

 

The way he did magic was something unimaginable, unlike she'd ever seen before. It was mesmerising. She couldn't keep her eyes off him and his moves.

 

He vanquished the bubbles and looked down at her; a mocking expression appeared on his face—she thought he was gorgeous like that.

 

"What should I do with you now, Hermione Jean Granger?" he whispered contemplatively … tauntingly.

 

A part of her mind registered all the underlying meanings of his rhetorical question, the threat and the dangers of it, but she didn't care. She wanted to be with him so badly. She'd rather die than be alone, without him, now.

 

"Take me with you?" she begged, crawling closer and hugging his legs desperately.

 

This was heaven. She was touching him. She never would let go.

 

If he let her.

 

She hoped he would, hoped he would be happy with her, hoped he wouldn't leave her. Fear struck her heart. He could. What if he wanted to?

 

"Don't leave me, please," she added, looking up that tall frame and meeting those eyes, those beautiful, gorgeous, penetrating, dark eyes.

 

His face was blank, telling her nothing. Wasn't he happy with her? Pleased? Despair flooded her. He should go if she weren't making him happy. She knew that as long as he were happy, so was she. Even if she couldn't be with him, she'd do anything to make him happy. She'd bear that sacrifice if need be, though she hoped it wouldn't.

 

Suddenly, he held out his hand.

 

Joy. She felt absolute joy.

 

Trembling she reached up and placed her hand in his carefully as if she were afraid this wasn't real, that he could vanish in a heartbeat without her.

 

His slender fingers curved around her hand gently, before his grasp tightened and he pulled her up into his arms.

 

Bliss. Absolute bliss.

 

She stared at him, not believing this was truly happening. He was holding her!

 

"Hold on tight," he ordered quietly.

 

He was letting her hold him!

 

Tentatively, she placed her arms around his neck—barely touching him for fear he'd tell her off about her too daring moves.

 

"Tighter, or you'll fall," he snarled. "I won't pick up the pieces, Granger."

 

Quickly, she did as she was told. Pressing herself tightly against him wasn't a punishment. He lifted her up underneath her bum.

 

"Legs, too."

 

She immediately complied.

 

Oh Merlin, she was holding him! He was holding her! They were one!

 

A shocked yelp left her lips when they were suddenly airborne, and she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled so nice, like everything she loved all put together. Closing her eyes she inhaled that delicious fragrance, relished in it. His hand came to rest on the back of her head.

 

OH MERLIN!

 

She didn't move as his fingers softly roamed through her bushy curls. This was heaven.

 

"Hermione!"

 

Then, his hand was gone, and disappointment filled her. She looked up questioningly, but he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at something behind her, underneath her.

 

Was someone shouting her name? She knew that voice, recognised the panic in it. However, it didn't matter. It wasn't  _Him_.

 

He had her wand in his hand, she now noticed. That must have been why he'd let go of her head. Would he do more magic? She liked that a lot.

 

His arm moved up and down like he cracked a whip, and then, there was a loud explosion.

 

She didn't care what or whom he'd blown up as long as they were together.

 

Forever.

 

xxx

  



	13. Alphabet

**Prompt: Alphabet**  
  


"It's not a part of the alphabet," Hermione stated, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glared at the person who dared to disagree with her and had taken it upon himself to do all the writing in their allegedly  **co** -project.  
  


Improving relations between Hogwarts Houses, whose idiotic idea had that been again?   
  


Her hair fluffed in every direction, nearly standing up straight like someone had electrified it. She was itching to draw her wand and curse him into oblivion. Her eyes narrowed to tiny stripes since she was pretty certain she was looking at the culprit who'd convinced Professor Miya to do this and then ... got her stuck with him.   
  
 __

_"Tom, why don't you form a pair with our new student?"  
  
_

_"It'll be my pleasure, Professor."_  
  


Conniving sneaky snake.   
  


"Of course it is, Granger," Tom replied lightly, continuing to write on the parchment as if there weren't an angry witch with exploded hair standing next to him. "I daresay it doesn't surprise me that a silly Gryffindor wouldn't be able to—"  
  


"It's an umlaut," Hermione snapped, slapping her hands on the table in fury.  
  


Tom looked up, arching a single eyebrow, unperturbed.   
  


It infuriated her beyond belief that that that that—  
  


"It's not a letter," she hissed.   
  


"It is," was the calm reply she got, and then, he continued writing on THEIR essay again, completely disregarding her very valid point.   
  


"Whenever you want to use some actual interpunction in that sentence, I'm sure the reader would be extremely appreciative," she sassed, finally succeeding in snatching the parchment away triumphantly with the momentarily distraction that comment caused.   
  


"Granger," Tom replied quietly as he got out of his chair and slid around the table in what almost appeared as a single, lithe move.   
  


Hermione briefly swallowed when he halted right in front of her, basically demanding that parchment back with his mere presence. However, she was not one of his sissy followers; so he could try to be as intimidating as he possibly could, her opinions were not to be ignored. Quickly, she put her hand with the parchment behind her back, causing him to smirk at her mockingly. 

  
"This is supposed to be a JOINED assignment," Hermione emphasised. "You know ... when people have to work TOGETHER ... as  _friends_ ," she sneered, "which ..." she paused, smirking evilly back at him when the idea struck her, "will improve upon those bad House relations so much, Professor," she mimicked in that god-awful, sucking-up tone of voice HE always used around the teachers. 

  
He merely blinked at her perfect imitation and then calmly replied, "I'm not letting you destroy my perfect, full O-score in Magical Languages, just because  **you**  want to be friends with  **me** , Granger."  
  


Now it was Hermione's turn to blink and splutter in indignation. She had no intentions to be friends with HIM. That wasn't what she’d meant to say and he knew it. She could tell by the amused glint in his eyes as she was about to open her mouth and pound on him. Audibly, she snapped it shut, determined now to crush him with academic arguments.   
  


"It's not just the umlaut you're using wrongly either. 'A diacritic, also known as diacritical mark, diacritical point, diacritical sign from ancient Greek, is a glyph added to a letter, or basic glyph. The main use of diacritics in the Latin alphabet is to change the sound value of the letter to which they are added, or distinguish between homonyms.' They're not singular letters; page 301, chapter 25. Construction of Languages by Anony Pedia Wiki," she lectured.   
  


For a moment, he just stood there and she felt absolute and utter triumph.   
  


Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do I always have to work with morons who don't read the entire book?"   
  


"I read the entire book, thrice."  
  


"Then how come you missed this part of chapter 55?" Before she had time to respond, he rapidly quoted: "'In orthography and collation, a letter modified by a diacritic may be treated either as a new, distinct letter or as a letter–diacritic combination. This varies from language to language, and may vary from case to case within a language'."  
  


"My point exactly, it varies from language to language. So you have to add in the notion of it being an umlaut and not a letter. You can't simply state it's a letter when we don't know what text we're going to be given."  
  


"Who says I don't know what text we've been assigned to study?" Tom asked, leaning in towards her ear. She felt his hand curve around her shoulder before travelling down her arm to her hand, but she was distracted by the way his breath brushed her earlobe as he softly whispered: "The text we're getting is in Swedish. Since they do not mark grammatical variation, as the umlaut does in the German alphabet, or separate syllables, as does the diaeresis, it is not correct to call these letters umlauts, despite the lack of a better term in English," he concluded victoriously, grabbing the parchment from her hand, swirling away and sliding back into his seat.   
  


"We're not supposed to know in advance what text we'll be given," Hermione reprimanded when she broke out of her stupor, wanting to counter something at least.   
  


Tom snorted. "I'm not doing any more work on this nonsense than necessary."  
  


"It's unfair to the other students."  
  


"Aww ... poor them," he mocked.   
  


"Anyone can get high marks when they cheat. I always knew your intelligence was overrated."  
  


That caught his attention. She noticed the flash of redness in his eyes and knew she'd gone too far, but she just didn't care. It was true. If he'd manipulated the professor into letting him know what text they'd be getting, that meant their workload was sufficiently less than others, which made their eventual grade incomparable to the others either.   
  


Determined, she watched how he pulled the professor's assignment out of his bag and placed it on the table, facing her.   
  


"If you can't tell which language the text we'll get is in by the way she worded the assignment, Granger, I have seriously overestimated YOUR intelligence," he said coldly.   
  


Then he began writing on their essay again.   
  


Confused, Hermione wasn't sure what to do first: stop him from writing on or find out what the hell he was talking about. She decided on the latter and picked up the parchment. It took her several read-throughs of the entire text before she noticed the clue. How could she have missed that? It was so obvious. A groan left her lips when she realised Riddle had been right all along.   
  
 __

 _This was going to be more painful than a round of Cruciatuses_ , she thought.  
  


"Apology accepted," the snake said, sniggering gleefully.   
  


"I haven't apologised," she retorted in reflex, scrunching up her face when she realised her mistake as he casually leaned back in his seat, now waiting expectantly.   
  


"Well, then?" he asked tauntingly after a long silence.  
  


"I'll apologise if you do it first."  
  


"Why should I apologise? I didn't call an innocent person a cheat."  
  


"Innocent," she huffed.   
  


Some emotion flickered through his blank expression. Yet, it was gone too fast for her to determine what it had been. Why did she keep letting these things slip around him? He was just too aggravating!  
  


"You should apologise for not communicating with me about this assignment that we  _are_  supposed to make together."  
  


"Touché," Tom said. "Very well. I apologise."   
  


He said it with such charm, ease and elegance that she wished there weren't any witnesses nearby so she could pummel him to death with her heavy schoolbag freely, without getting charged with anything.   
  


"Your turn," he added, amused.  
  


Hermione gritted her teeth. "Sorry," she said quickly, sitting down in her seat so she didn't have to look at that obnoxiously handsome face whilst she said her barely audible apology.  
  


Tom snorted. "And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be bold and da—"  
  


"Just shut up and let me do something," Hermione interrupted, glaring at him.   
  


That dark gaze flickered over her; then, he pushed the parchment towards her as a perfect gentleman. When she picked up her quill and started writing, however, he said:   
  


"Don't forget to write how it  **is**  a letter and part of their alphabet."  
  


Promptly, she pushed through the parchment and broke the tip of her quill in anger. This House-Unity thing was going to mean the death of someone before this evening was over. 

 

xxx

 

 **Author's Note:** The quotes Hermione and Tom are using come from wikipedia; hence, why I called the author of their alleged book " Anony Pedia Wiki".


	14. Lacrimosa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Doctor Who verse, too, nor do I make any money from writing this drabble.

**Prompt: Lacrimosa**

They'd been unable to destroy it as they'd been ordered to do. Wanting to make sure there would be no possibility remaining that Lord Voldemort would ever return, the decision was made to vanquish all that was even remotely connected to him. Unspeakable Hermione Jean Granger looked in annoyance at the grave site of Riddle Sr. She'd disintegrated every bone and even the plaque, but the one thing remaining was that enormous statue of Death. Why none of her spells worked on it baffled her.

She glared at it furiously; her company had already given up, stating that tomorrow was another day, but she just couldn't let it go. It felt like a personal affront that she couldn't destroy that statue. Her eyes took in every detail from the skull, the ribs, the hood, the angel wings to the robes and the scythe.

She blinked ...

and got the shock of a lifetime. She was no longer on the graveyard. Instead, she was at Godric's Hollow, standing at the gate of the Potter residence with right in front of her the unmistakable figure of the Dark Lord. Underneath the dark hood, his red, slit-pupilled eyes burned at her in that white snakelike face. Frozen in shock, she just stood there, not understanding what had happened and how she got here. A bright green light surrounded her and her body plummeted to the ground with a thud.

"Don't blink," Lord Voldemort advised dryly as he glided past her corpse.


	15. Kitten

**Prompt: Kitten**

Seven kittens, Hermione stared at the litter she'd confiscated from the Soul Carrier before they'd exchanged into unwanted hands and would've led to the most unwanted resurrection ever. She should've brought them to the Ministry, but they were so tiny and skinny and meowed so squeakingly and seemed just overall so incredibly pityingly and they were ...  _cats_. She'd always had a soft spot for cat-like creatures.

Sighing, she scratched her head, taking in the interesting mix of black and white kittens with dark and red eyes that had basically taken over her flat, invading every millimeter of space as if they owned it.

Why had she brought them here? They were an absolute nightmare, ignoring the litter box, raiding her fridge and pantry, ruining her furniture and attacking anyone who dared to enter, bar for one who behaved admirably.

What was she to do with these kittens now, put them in a sack and drown them? As if knowing what she was thinking, the skinny white one with furious red eyes hissed at her, its back round and nails ready to strike. The cute, fluffy black one purred, curling around her leg before jumping in her lap and attempting to seduce her with its dark eyes.

Absentmindedly, Hermione started petting the black one. "I really shouldn't keep you lot, Tom," she told the black one who settled comfortably on her legs, "This is a big mistake even though those collars I made prevent you from ever regaining your human form." The cat purred softly, rubbing against her hand. "If only you'd not picked cats..." she trailed off, scratching its belly.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the movement. Right when the white one with the black spots jumped at her throat, she grabbed it and tossed its now struggling and hissing body on the floor, its eyes flashing red. She retained several nasty scratches in the process, which the one in her lap started licking at once. Her wand flashed, and with a high screech filled with indignation, the cat who'd just attacked her joined the other two already locked up in her special "cat" crate.

"Really, Tom," she muttered, picking up the black one in her arms and moving to the kitchen to get the Healing Potion she used on a regular basis nowadays, "do I have to keep putting your 'brothers' in time-out? I thought you were supposed to be clever."

The black one crawled up, settling itself on her shoulder and licking her neck. Hermione giggled, since that tickled, and put him on the counter. He meowed softly, pressing his head to her hand.

"Yes, yes, I know. Feeding time," she said, taking a sip of the potion, which made the wounds on her arms disappear instantaneously. She washed out the cat bowl for the only cat using it. The others merely snarled at her and smacked them away whenever she tried to get them to eat from it. "I got you some fish. You like fish, right?"

She turned away from him, opening the fridge. The cat stared at her back, its eyes turning a deep shade of red as its mouth formed a vicious smirk. When she turned around with the fish, however, there was nothing visible of that brief drop in its façade. Instead, the black kitten sat on its behind, its head slightly tilted and his dark eyes wide and pleading. It looked absolutely adorable and disarming this way.

"If only they were all as sweet as you," Hermione said, putting the fish in the cat bowl, "this wouldn't have to be so unpleasant." She petted the black cat as it started eating. "I'm sure we could all get along nicely. Right, Tom?"

 


	16. Masters of Manipulation: Part Two - Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a deleted scene from "Masters of Manipulation: Part Two". I figured since I couldn't use this extended side-plot anymore and it can stand on its own easily, I'd wrap up the scene and share it with you all here. Enjoy.

**Masters of Manipulation: Part Two - Outtake.**

'Mrs Woodbridge, so good to finally make your acquaintance.'

'Same here, Mr Wolfe, same here,' Hermione said, nodding her head courtly.

'I look forward to show you our exhibition and its final piece. It's mind-boggling.'

'I trust the security measures are of equal standards?'

'Naturally, naturally, I assure you we have done everything to meet the company's requirements to the letter,' Mr Wolfe said hastily, while they walked up the stairs to the personal entrance. 'We wouldn't want our centre piece to get stolen, now would we?'

'That would certainly be a shame,' Hermione said, with a small smile on her lips. 'I see you've got the latest in identifying scans for the doors.'

'Yes, we do,' Mr Wolfe stated proudly, 'you have our curator, Mr Thompson, to thank for that.'

'Your curator?' Hermione said, puzzled. 'I didn't think that would be part of a curator's job description.'

'It isn't, but he is quite brilliant in Muggle technology, knows everything about the latest compila – er – compula-'

'Computer,' Hermione helped.

'Yes, that thing,' Mr Wolfe said, relieved. 'Anyway, he helped us set up those handy scans and everything in all kinds of ways Muggles use to protect their stuff. They are quite inventive, you know, Muggles.'

'Yeah, I know,' Hermione said, making her best effort not to sound disgruntled. She took an extensive look at the eye-and-fingerprint scanners, while cursing the darned curator in the back of her mind. This was going to be more difficult than she planned upon. 'Muggle technology can be very helpful in protecting wizarding artefacts. Most wizards and witches haven't got a clue as to how they work, and they never count on them when they break into a facility.'

'Indeed, indeed, our thoughts exactly,' Mr Wolfe said, like it was all his idea.

'I do trust you also have protective spell-work in place,' Hermione said, activating the wireless storage-device in her pocket when Mr Wolfe inserted his codes into the keyboard on the wall that would activate the doors to the main exhibition room.

'We put everything around the item as you requested.'

'Good, good,' Hermione said, satisfied. After all she knew how to dismantle those spells to the letter. Now all she had to bypass were the Muggle security measures, which were bound to have wizarding additions. 'Then I am certain we will be able to insure the item as you requested. However, I must have a full demonstration of everything, including the Muggle defences you installed. Procedure, you understand.'

'Of course, of course,' Mr Wolfe added hastily, as he opened the door for Hermione. 'Rapports need to be making.'

'Exactly, and I have to follow the company's insurance procedures or they will sack me in a heartbeat.'

Mr Wolfe seemed very understanding to her predicament.

'It will be helpful if your curator could show me what he did.' Hermione was sure it would be easier to fool someone who was not specialised in looking around for thieves; and if this curator helped defend the item, he was bound to be proud of his accomplishments. Besides, men always liked to talk about their accomplishments to a pretty woman, always.

'Well, you're in luck. He is right over there,' said Mr Wolfe, pointing to the long legs of a figure that was lying underneath the raised platform. 'Mr Thompson! Mrs Woodbridge from the Halliwell Corporation is here.'

A muffled sound came back in response.

'Sorry to disturb you, but we need your assistance,' Mr Wolfe added, lowering his head.

Hermione took full advantage of the opportunity to scan her environment unnoticed. Everything went perfect. This would be an easy job, very easy.

'Fine,' muttered the curator back in annoyance.

That voice … no, it couldn't be. Harry wouldn't let—

Mr Thompson rolled out from underneath the platform and stared up at the two people above him. Or rather, he stared at Hermione.

Hermione's mouth gaped open when she identified the curator as being indeed Tom Marvolo Riddle.

 _Merlin's pants! So much for easy_.

'Mr Thompson, this is Mrs Woodbridge; she is most interested in your upgrades to our security.'

Hermione regained her composure just on time, and her face was perfectly blank when Mr Wolfe looked back at her.

Mr Thompson smiled broadly. 'Really? I would be more than honoured to show them to you, Mrs Woodbridge.'

Mr Wolfe appeared very happy with the introductions. Hermione, however, couldn't help but notice the slight amount of sarcasm that was added to her last name, and she was pretty sure the sarcasm was extended to him showing her any of his security measures.  _Crap, crap, crap_.

'I look forward to hearing all about it, Mr Thompson,' said Hermione, making sure she added the same amount of sarcasm to her speech.

The smirk that appeared briefly on Mr Thompson's face as he got up from the floor was a clear testament to the truth of her thoughts. He extended his hand to her. Hermione's eyes widened. She was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea for them to touch each other in front of company, especially since they hadn't seen each other in years and she wasn't sure how violently their bond would respond upon a renewed physical contact. Mr Wolfe coughed and nodded towards Tom's blackened hands.

'Oh sorry,' the alleged Mr Thompson said, smiling ever so apologetic as he wiped off his hands on his coveralls, 'I didn't realise. Mick Thompson, at your service.' And Tom nodded courtly to Hermione.

'Lynn Woodbridge, nice to make your acquaintance.'

'So, you are here on behalf of the insurance company?'

'Yes, we need to verify to item's legitimacy as well as its security before we can proceed to fill in the paperwork.'

'Well then, I can assist you with both,' Tom replied ever so politely.

'I will need to verify your claims with another professional,' Hermione said, smiling equally politely. 'Not that I doubt yours, but it is procedure.'

'Of course, we will make the item available to your expert.'

As they stared at each other, each straining their fake smiles to the best of their abilities, Hermione realised this couldn't go on. Mr Wolfe didn't appear to her as the brightest cookie in the jar—he had hired Lord Voldemort after all and had taken her identity for granted rather easily—yet, Tom being here was a serious issue. If he were after the item, too, which she had no doubt he was, she'd have to think of something to take him out before he did that to her. She needed a moment to think, preferably at some place where she could be alone and didn't have to look at those knowing dark eyes of his.

Averting her gaze swiftly, she turned her attention back to the moron who was now looking at the two of them as if he saw love at first sight developing before his eyes. Hermione felt like hitting him over the head with her beaded bag. Hard.

Instead, she said, 'Not to be rather abrupt, Mr Wolfe, but do you have a bathroom I could use?'

'Yes, down the corridor, third door on your left.'

'Thank you.'

'I'll show you the way,' Tom added smoothly.

'I think I can find it.'

'The doors are bolted.'

Hermione blinked. 'You secured the bathrooms? Afraid someone would steal a toilet boil?' she mocked.

'You never know what people will be interested in stealing,' Tom replied knowingly.

'Paranoid much?'

Tom smiled. 'It's not paranoia when one is right,  _Lynn_. You don't mind if I call you Lynn, do you?'

'Of course not,  _Mick_ , and I do stand corrected. You are quite right; you never know who will be interested in stealing valuable ancient artefacts,' Hermione responded, smiling sweetly at him.

'Like Simon Templar,' Mr Wolfe added; and when both of them looked at him rather curiously, he added, 'You know… The Saint. I heard everybody who met him trusted him instantaneously. It was how he was able to steal so many priceless diamonds without getting caught.'

'People often trust the wrong persons with their belongings,' Hermione said, looking at Tom.

'Not here at "The Olde Ways",' Mr Wolfe reassured proudly, 'we do thorough background checks on everyone. I will not be taken for a fool by some smooth talker.'

'No, Mr Wolfe here is a very careful individual indeed,' Tom commented.

'I can tell,' said Hermione.

'I do my best,' said Mr Wolfe humbly. 'Now Mrs. Woodbridge, the code to the bathroom is 4679.'

'Why, thank you,' Hermione said, walking away.

'We change the codes on a daily base!' Tom shouted out after her. 'Just so you don't think Mr Wolfe was being reckless by giving the code to a stranger he just met mere moments ago,' he added, smirking.

'I would never think that,' Hermione said; her cheeks were beginning to hurt from her fake smile, and it took great effort on her part not to slam the door.

She did, however, took out her frustration on the bathroom door. It had it coming. She stomped to the sinks and threw some water on her face. Of all the gin joints in all the places, he had to be here, where she needed to be. Well, he would just have to leave. The item was hers. She needed it to complete the set. She picked out her scanner and pointed it to the vent. The door flew open. Unabashed, Hermione continued looking at her screen; she had been expecting him and wasn't going to be distracted from getting the information she needed.

'Collorportus,' Tom cast.

'Snakes?' asked Hermione condescendingly.

Tom pushed open every cubicle's door, checking they were truly alone.

'You put snakes in the ventilation system? Something wrong with the plumbing in this building?' Tauntingly, Hermione turned the tap on and off. 'Will you look at that, a tap in the ladies room that's working,' she mocked.

'As you clearly remember, snakes can be very helpful to me.'

'This is not their natural habitat.'

'Planning on joining wildlife preserve?'

'It will be too cold for them to assist you in any way.'

'Oooh, you are,' he mocked. 'Now officer, I have installed an infrared system to make them more comfortable at the appropriate time,' he smirked. 'It would be a shame if they went off by themselves and scared the nice little visitors of this museum prior to their …  _job_.'

Hermione glared at him.

He merely snickered, while he walked towards her. 'So sorry if their presence is a problem for your planned entry, Mrs Woodbridge,' he added, clearly not sorry at all.

'Not a problem at all, Mr Thompson,' Hermione replied, smiling sweetly. 'Vents are for movies. In real life they are far too noisy to crawl through.'

'Then, how do you plan to come in?' he asked, stopping in front of her.

Hermione merely looked at him.

'Fine, don't tell me. Not that it matters,' Tom said shrugging. 'The item is mine, since clearly I was here first.'

'What are you, like ten? This isn't a matter of I called it therefore it's mine,' said Hermione, folding her arms over each other while resting her butt against the sink.

'Oh, I believe it is,' said Tom certainly. 'It would be unfortunate if security decided to investigate Mrs Woodbridge's credentials further.'

Hermione snorted. 'By all means, have them check further.'

Tom narrowed his eyes. 'So, it's a real identity; what happened to the real Mrs Woodbridge?'

'Resting comfortably.'

'As in…?' Tom trailed off, watching her expectantly.

'What happened to the real Mr Thompson?' asked Hermione, ignoring the implication.

'Resting comfortably,' Tom said, snickering. 'What,' he added when she said nothing. 'No return "as in"?'

'I am not delusional,' Hermione replied coldly.

That caused him to laugh louder. When he was done, he said, 'Clearly you are if you think I am going to let you take something that belongs to me.'

Hermione shook her head. 'You need a reality check on the subject of what is and isn't yours.'

'Do I?' asked Tom; he placed his hands on the sink on either side of her and leaned in. 'I think I am not the one who needs the reality check.'

In an automatic response, Hermione raised her hand to his chest to shove him away; but the moment she touched him, the bond soared through them both with the force of a sledgehammer. Her fingers dug into his shirt; their knees buckled; his arms flew around her, and they crashed to the floor together. Hermione landed on top of him. Quietly, they lay there for a while, trying to relearn how to breathe as their bodies tingled violently.

Finally, Hermione tried to push herself up, but Tom pulled her back against him.

'Let go,' she snapped, not liking how much she enjoyed the feel of his body against hers.

'Not yet,' he said breathlessly. 'We need to get used to this again or we'll blow our cover in front of everyone if we touch accidentally.'

That made sense. Unfortunately.

So, she merely uttered a couple of incomprehensible noises in protest while resting her head back on his chest, not noticing the triumphant smirk that grew wider on his face as she relaxed into his embrace. The sensations had never been this strong before. Hermione figured it had to be due to the prolonged time they'd been separated from each other. She had the weirdest need to touch him all over, so she didn't object when Tom's hand began massaging her back. Instead, she caressed him in return. A soft moan escaped her and she closed her eyes when he reached her neck, touching her bare skin there. Tension—she didn't know she'd felt—left her body in flash. She wanted to kiss him, get his clothes off and touch him all over. His long, slender fingers began pulling her skirt up. Oh yes, that was the way to go. Hermione raised herself in assistance. She wanted, no needed, him inside of her.

_What? Wait. Damn that stupid bond!_

Tom's hand was squeezing her buttocks, grasping her knickers, as his other hand had buried itself into what was currently sleek, blond hair.

'What are you doing?' Hermione hissed, slapping his hand away from her behind as she raised her head to face him.

'Getting reacquainted with what is mine,' he said heatedly, pulling her back down and capturing her mouth with his.

Hermione didn't object to his statement, returning his kiss feverishly. She figured if he became overly obsessed with her again, the item would inevitably be hers.


	17. Lines

**Prompt: Lines**

The saying "All is fair in love and war" was the biggest load of crap ever. There simply were lines you did not cross, no matter what, _ever_. And nothing was ever fair, especially when dealing with a certain ridiculously handsome and obnoxiously intelligent Dark Lord. That was how she viewed the world, how she had always viewed the world. So, how she got to be here, in this situation, it would be laughable to her if the consequences weren't so severe and far reaching.

Hermione stood at an inevitable crossroad; a decision needed to be made, a conundrum she'd never envisioned herself having. The lines of right versus wrong blurred in the recesses of her mind; her morals poisoned by his smooth words and the intricacies of his ideas. What beheld the difference between dark and light magic surely were the motives of the caster. Nothing could be differentiated as easily as the Ministry claimed it to be. The world was inherently grey, her actions consistent with that. Her head reeled from all the possibilities, her options, the knowledge and power she'd gain.

"It is time, Hermione," Tom said, holding out his hand. The simplest of movements, yet it expressed his certainty she'd come more than his words did.

He wasn't wrong.

 


	18. Morty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Drabble written for our Tomione forum's World Animal Day Challenge.

**Morty**

 

It had sounded like a good idea … at the time.

After Crookshanks died, Hermione'd wanted another pet. Cats were too dominant for his liking, so they'd settled on a dog. Dogs were loyal, more the following type, more submissive, more  _His_. They did what you told them to. He had liked the idea of being a Master again.

Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

He just stood there, in the door opening, frozen stiff, staring at the mess that was once his study. The curtain rod dangled, barely holding onto the one end where it was still attached to the ceiling. The thick, velvet curtains were rags, torn beyond recognition. His big leather chair lay, toppled over; its stuffing scattered around everywhere. His grand, oak desk's paws were distinctly less thick than the last time he saw them. Oak wood chips decorated the floor. However, the worst assault had been on the book cabinets. Most doors hung crooked, and some had even broken off their hinges. The contents, many priceless, one-of-a-kind, first-edition volumes, were utterly destroyed, beyond even magical repair. It was like it had snowed paper, as if someone had thrown confetti for hours.

At the centre of it all lie the culprit: a big ball of fur that Hermione had fallen in love with on first sight. Between its hairy paws and its mouth, Morty held what used to be one of his books. Its head slightly tilted to the side, making its big floppy ears waggle as it chewed on the leather cover like there was no tomorrow.

He couldn't agree more.

Somehow his wand had made it to his hand. He couldn't remember when or how, but he knew what to do with it. Morty had finally spotted him; its tail wagged like crazy and its big brown eyes lightened up with happiness as it jumped to its feet and skipped towards him.

He raised his wand.

"Harm little Morty and you're dead," a soft voice said coolly behind him.

 _Why couldn't he ever get a break?_  Tom thought as Morty stole his wand from his hand and danced happily around him and Hermione.

xxx


	19. Transformation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Story was written for our Tomione Forum's World Animal Day Challenge.

**Transformation**

"This is all your fault."

"Of course it is," Hermione sneered. "It couldn't possibly be something the almighty Riddle did."

'If you hadn't distracted me, nothing would've—"

"Really? Here I was thinking the almighty Riddle could never be distracted. Imagine that."

His blond fur bristled as he bared his teeth, snarling.

"Hah! What you're gonna do, blondie? Fetch something? Should I throw you a ball to aport?"

The Golden Retriever lunged, and then, squealed when Hermione rolled into a ball.

"Forgot that hedgehogs have spikes, Riddle? I always knew your alleged intelligence was overrated."

"We need to undo this undesirable situation fast," Riddle replied, ignoring her barb as he rubbed his paw over his painful nose.

Hermione peeked out and unrolled herself when the coast seemed clear. Pointing to the broken window on the first floor, she said, "Well, if you could sprout some wings, man's best friend, maybe you could fly back inside and get our wands."

"Are you done?" Riddle snapped, annoyed.

"No, not by a long shot," she snapped back, taking a step in his direction with every word she stipulated.

Riddle retreated, watching her spikes carefully.

"You just had to experiment with the Animagus Charm. After all, why leave a perfectly fine charm alone and not add some Dark Arts to it?"

"Exactly," Riddle interrupted. "This obviously is a perfect weapon to be used."

"Oh, you want a perfect weapon?" Hermione abruptly rolled in his direction.

All four paws of the Golden Retriever left the ground immediately as he jumped out of range.

"You know what, a hedgehog is the perfect fit for you. You're so prickly. I'm surprised it's not your normal Animagus shape."

"At least I'm not looking like I want to be a Malfoy," Hermione taunted. "Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll adopt you." She laughed loudly.

She laughed even harder when he trotted away, haughtily, his tail in the air. "Oh yes, perfect Lucius imitation."

"I should know," Tom said, looking back at her with a wink. "Are you coming, Mrs Tiggy-Winkle?"

Hermione snorted, pitter-pattering after him. "Whoa! Not so fast. I don't have such long legs as yours."

"Nothing ever changes," Riddle said, waiting until she'd caught up with him before continuing to move around the house.

"Where are we going? Oh wait, I know. Your inner dog wants to plunge into the pool," she sniggered.

"I wonder," Riddle said, tilting his head, "do hedgehogs know how to swim?"

Hermione stopped walking abruptly, narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't you dare."

Riddle seemed to be gleaming with mirth now; his tail was wagging uncontrollably at the thought as he trotted onwards.

"It's not funny!"

"It's a little funny!"

"We're not testing that theory!"

"We might!"

They halted on the wooden deck. Riddle moved around the garden furniture and potted plants towards the back door. Swiftly, he jumped up, trying to move the door handle.

"What are you doing? You're scratching the paint."

"I'm getting our wands," he replied, jumping on.

"Do you have to do that with your big fat paws and their gigantic nails? Can't you just take the door handle in your mouth and twist it?"

Riddle sighed. "Always with the constant commentary. 'You're missing a step. You need to add aconite before wolfsbane. You're pronouncing it wrong. It needs to be a twirl not a twist.' You know what, Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, why don't you do it then?" he countered, stepping back and watching her mockingly.

Hermione groaned, dropping her head. The door handle was so far out of her reach, she might as well try to sprout those wings she'd mentioned. That was bound to get them where they wanted to be faster than her trying to open this door.

'Well, what's taking you? I'd have thought that your perfect, all-knowing self would've the door open by now."

"Just get on with it," Hermione said tiresomely.

"Me?" Riddle asked in fake shock. "With my big fat paws and gigantic nails?"

"Yes, you, with your paws, tail, fluffy fur, and your hugely inflated ego."

"Now, now, I'm not sure that tone of voice is inspiring me to do anything at all."

"Will you just open the freaking door already!?"

"Definitely lacking incentive," he replied, sitting down nonchalantly.

"What's this for incentive?" Hermione replied viciously.

"Eep!" Riddle squealed as several spikes entered his behind. Abruptly, he jumped forward to get out of range and accidentally opened the door in the process. He fell indoors, sliding forward on the slippery tile floor and stopping when his body struck the kitchen cabinets.

Smugly, Hermione pitter-pattered past him. "And that's how it is done."

"Well, what are you two doing in here?" a kind, and above all, familiar female voice spoke.

Riddle groaned, dropping his head, and Hermione looked up, smiling. It was Ginny. They were saved.

"I'm not sure Hermione would approve of you being in her kitchen," Ginny continued.

Riddle immediately acted, almost skipping to Ginny and sitting down in front of her with a tilted head and his paw in the air, being ever so charming.

"Ooooh, you're such a good boy," Ginny said, shaking his paw.

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione said disbelievingly. "Surely,  _you_  should recognise the act."

Riddle turned and rubbed his nose against Ginny's hand, causing her to pet him. Smugly, he looked in Hermione's direction and said, "And that's how it is done."

"Still," Ginny said, looking at hedgehog Hermione pondering, "you can't be in the kitchen."

She flashed her wand. Hermione's eyes widened when the spell impacted on her. Next, Riddle rolled over the floor, barking with laughter. Hermione bristled; all her spikes erected in anger as she was now stuck in a cage.

"Ginny, it's me!" Hermione cried, but her words weren't understood by the red head who simply waved her wand and levitated the cage onto the living room's dresser.

"This is brilliant," Riddle said, snorting at Hermione, "I think you— What do you think you're doing!? Get that leash off of me!"

Hermione guffawed in her cage at the sight of Riddle bucking, trying to get out of his predicament.

"Now, now, relax, boy," Ginny said, pulling the protesting Golden Retriever with her. "I'm just taking you somewhere more appropriate until Hermione gets back here, and she can decide what to do with you two. Now that's better. You're a good boy, aren't you?" Ginny said, petting him on the back when, suddenly, Riddle lunged at her wand.

_Thud!_

"Hey!" yelled Hermione, "If she'd hit that cupboard, you would've hurt her!"

"Such a pity she missed it then," Riddle said, watching the stunned Ginny, satisfied, before he whipped her wand around and transformed back to his old self. "Accio wands!"

"Finally," Hermione grunted, watching how their wands soared into his hand. "Now get me out of here."

"Oh, I don't know," Riddle replied, pocketing the extra wands and picking up the cage by its handle as he walked to the fireplace. "What's in it for me?"

"Riddle!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Granger, again with that tone of voice."

"Let me out of here this instance, or I'll make you regret it for the rest of your pathetic life."

He clicked with his tongue again, knowing it aggravated her. "I think it's best if I keep you like this, Granger. Time you learned some proper manners."

Riddle threw the Floo Powder in the hearth, and with a green flash, they vanished.


	20. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble written for our Tomione forum's drabble challenge. The prompt was "destiny".

**Destiny**  
  
His cold, dark gaze fell upon the numerous dead bodies with pleasure before looking at her. Her brown eyes sparkled in fury. She looked positively magnificent in all her glory.  
  
She'd done this.   
  
 _For him_.   
  
It proved her worth.   
  
"Not for you," she corrected.  
  
He raised one eyebrow, daring her to continue.   
  
"For me," she explained. "Silly, little girls who think they can change you, with the power of love no less."   
  
Tom snorted.   
  
"I think we both know your destiny," she added.  
  
"Lord Voldemort was, is and will always be it," he concurred.  
  
"Not the destiny I was referring to," Hermione corrected again.  
  
He tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to elaborate. Instead of words, her wand flashed green and his body dropped to the ground, lifelessly.   
  
"This, on the other hand,  _is_ ," she said, stepping over his still warm corpse coldly.


	21. Extra

**Prompt: Extra**

Diagon Alley was not the same, Harry realised as Ron, Griphook and he moved underneath the Invisibilty Cloak to get to Gringotts. It was dark and messy. Beggars were a common sight. People rushed past them to get home as fast as they could. Nobody did any shopping just for pleasure anymore.

"Extra, extra, read all about it!" the scruffy wizard shouted, holding out the newspapers in his hand. "Special news coverage of the Dark Lord's wedding."

"Wedding?" Harry said, confused.

"Who'd marry that?" Ron muttered.

"Bellatrix?"

"You think he want that?"

"Can you see what's on that photo, Ron?"

"I - I ... blimey."

Ron and Harry held their breath underneath the Invisibilty Cloak. There, on the frontpage, stood a picture of their best friend, the one they had to leave behind at Malfoy Manor when Lord Voldemort had apparated in. Hermione Jean Granger was alive and well, smiling and waving at them. Ron pushed away from Harry, making a beeline to the man and yanking a copy out of his hand.

"Oye! That's one Sickle."

Ignoring that, Ron began reading. His eyes widened and he turned around, holding up the newspaper to his invisible friend. Harry yanked the cloak away and grabbed the paper. Griphook muttered something incomprehensible and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

"No," Harry whispered.

"Hey! Aren't you, aren't you Harry Potter?" the newspaper vendor said nervously, his eyes flickering around.

"No," Harry repeated. "Hermione is not marrying Lord Voldemort.

The vendor screamed and ran, dropping his papers, as Apparition cracks occured all around them. The air was thick with magic. There wasn't any time, they were disarmed before they knew it.

"Oh, but I already have, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said sibilantly. "I knew you'd be foolish enough to forget about the Taboo if you saw this news. So predictable," he said, stroking his wand. "So foolish. So utterly stupid. You really are worth nothing if she's not around, aren't you?"

"You leave her alone," Harry said furiously. "You got what you wanted: me"

"Oh, such ego, thinking the world revolves around you. I do admit the headline was for ...  _your benefit_. Yet my marriage is entirely for mine. I daresay you should've never left that clever little witch behind, Harry Potter. She really knows how to think on her feet and turn a disadvantage around. Do you have any idea what she did to stop me from killing her, Harry?"

Harry stayed silent, his face red in anger and worry.

"No?" Lord Voldemort mocked, turning his attention to Ron who cringed at having to meet that red gaze.

"What about your precious Weasley then, any suggestions, Ronald? Any ideas lingering around in that one brain cell you fail to use?"

Ron swallowed, his fear clear for all to see.

"She really was the brains of your pathetic operation, wasn't she?" Lord Voldemort snorted and turned to his Death Eaters. "Take them to the dungeons. I'll deal with them tomorrow." He looked back at Harry and Ron. "Wouldn't want to upset my wife on her wedding night, now would I?" he taunted before disapparating.

 

 


	22. Samurai

**Prompt: Samurai**  
  
Reverently, Tom Riddle unsheathed the sword. It had stood, dead-centre, on a pedestal; its jewel-filled handle shining with its importance. He knew this was to be the fabled, undefeatable weapon of the Samurai. This sword could not be stopped, not by anyone or by any means.  
  
This would ensure his victory.  
  
Tom never noticed the sideway glances Hermione was giving him as she waved her wand stealthily above an unassuming, ordinary-looking bow and arrow. The corner of her mouth curved up. She was right.  
  
He was wrong.   
  
He had the wrong weapon.   
  
She never wanted to burst out in giggles so much as right now, but she was able to contain herself, barely. Lord Voldemort had it wrong.   
  
Again.  
  
He mustn't notice, she reminded herself.   
  
Then again, he was like a magpie around shiny objects, nothing else mattered.   
  
Carefully, Hermione picked up the bow and arrow, its powerful magic thrumming through her. The many legends surrounding it were real; she could feel it and almost touch the sheer force lingering in it. Tom was too entranced by the sword to even notice how she silently put the arrow against the string and pulled it back. She didn't have to aim. She sensed it would go wherever she wished it. For a brief moment, her hand stayed; she stared at his handsome physique and swallowed deep, feeling her loss that was to come.   
  
Then, she released the arrow.    
  
To her surprise, it multiplied in midair, seeking all the targets necessary to dispose of Tom Marvolo Riddle. No Horcrux would survive tonight.   
  
As the arrow lodged firmly into his chest, Tom looked down, confused, before his eyes glazed over and he dropped to the floor, dead.  
  
Hermione lowered the bow. "I told you it wouldn't be a sword," she muttered.   
  
xxx


	23. The Easter Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story was written for the Tomione Forum Bunny Challenge.

 

** The Easter Feast **

 

It was a bet, and Lord Voldemort never ever lost a bet. Not once in his life.

 

So, of course he took it, certain he'd wipe that smug smile of Mudblood Granger's face. He was already looking forward to what he was going to make her do at the next Death Eater party, which would be at the coming Easter Sunday.

 

He had the custom ready to go: fishnet stockings held up through suspenders attached to a tight, black-leather, low-cut bodice with a fluffy, white, bouncy bunny tail. This all combined with a silver tiara with pink, bunny ears. For the occasion he'd conjured a set of black stilettos in a height he knew she'd trip in, and a set of black lace gloves.

 

Of course he would also have Bellatrix do her makeup, to further the humiliation.

 

Granger would hate it.

 

He sniggered in advance. It would be the best Death Eater Easter Feast Ever.

 

It was.

 

For Hermione.

 

Nobody else dared to comment or utter a sound, nor did they dare gesture or change their postures, and they kept their facial expressions firmly in check upon seeing the Dark Lord enter in the custom he'd created for Hermione.  

 

It certainly was a feast worth remembering. For all.

 

Though Hermione had to admit he wore the outfit with grace, and didn't trip.

 

Unfortunately.

  
  



	24. Tulips

**Prompt: Tulips**  
  
Frustrated, Hermione looked at her hand. Between her fingers lay the flexible stem of a lovely red tulip, its head dangling down as a vivid reminder of her magical impotence. She'd always liked tulips; she wondered if he knew that they'd been her favourite flower. Now she cursed their very existence.  
  
It had started a year ago.   
  
She had no idea how that blasted sneaky snakeface had managed; but whenever she tried to cast, her wand would become a tulip instead. No matter which wand or whose she was using, it would happen. She pickpocketed one from a Snatcher, and again, a tulip the second she cast. It was infuriating.   
  
And dangerous.   
  
He'd made her completely defenseless, magically speaking. She'd taken to arming herself with Muggle weapons. It had been effective against those with mediocre wizarding skills and ignorance of how fast a gun could destroy the human body. She'd killed many of his followers, but Hermione held no illusions to how she would fare against him.   
  
That he hadn't caught her yet was nothing short of a miracle.   
  
Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time, more like the greatest horticulturist. She snorted.   
  
"Such an unbecoming sound of such a lovely lady," a familiar high-pitched voice spoke softly behind her.  
  
Hermione froze in fear, her fingers clutching around the stem as if it would somehow defend her. Gently, his spidery hands came to rest on her arms as he looked over her shoulder at the tulip in her hand.   
  
"You prefer red, don't you?" he breathed into her ear, his hands stroking over her bare arms.   
  
She always had.  
  
"Did you know you gave away your location every time you created a new tulip?"  
  
Hermione twitched. It had occurred to her, but she'd dismissed it when nobody showed up to arrest her.   
  
"And you created so many of them," he said with clear amusement. "Almost like you wanted me to catch you."  
  
"Why didn't you show up then if I was so easy to be found?" she asked daringly.   
  
"I believe you know the answer to that, my dear Mudblood."  
  
"What are you doing?" she whispered when he pulled her flush against his body.  
  
"Taking you where a brilliant witch like yourself belongs, home, at my side," he said, one arm wrapping around her waist as he disapparated them.  
  
They arrived in a sitting room overflowing with tulip-filled vases. Hermione gasped.  
  
"All by your hand," Voldemort said, his fingers curling around hers, showing her the red tulip in her hand. "Your magic."  
  
Confused, Hermione looked over her shoulder.  
  
"If you'd really wanted to resist me, the wands would've stopped transfiguring today."  
  
"No."  
  
He turned her around, his red gaze burning into her very soul.   
  
"Yes."


	25. The Black Tulip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A famous thief, nicknamed The Black Tulip, keeps eluding the authorities. Will Voldemort Investigations be able to uphold their flawless reputation and do what the Aurors cannot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wizard AU setting. No war. Canon character usage outside their canon timeline and plot.
> 
> Written for Pumpkin-dream's Tomione Day

**The Black Tulip**

This was the Ministry's worst nightmare. They found the black tulip at the centre of the Wizagemot's floor, standing in the priceless, ancient Hufflepuff vase, which was supposed to be on display at the heavily fortified Museum of Ancient Magic. Frowning at the obviously staged scenery, Tom Riddle walked towards it and examined it carefully.

"Nobody knows why The Black Tulip didn't keep the vase," the Auror behind him babbled inconsequentially. "It's worth a fortune."

"A fortune …" Tom said slowly, pulling the impossibly black tulip from the vase.

The flower was the real masterpiece in his mind, impossibly black, indestructable, and immortal. They didn't die upon lacking water or nutrients; they wouldn't burn; no curse or potion harmed them; every tulip left behind by the Black Tulip remained, living on, forever, as elusive as their creator. It was rumoured that the Department of Mysteries had an entire floor dedicated to these flowers, trying to unravel their secrets. Tom caressed the petals; they even felt the same as a real tulip did. He'd loved to meet its creator and pick her mind.

Oh yes, he was sure the famous thief called the Black Tulip was a woman. He could practically sense it in his bones: the precision, the attention to detail, the meticulous organisation and the elegance of her crimes. She was someone he could admire, and Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't one to admire anyone besides himself. He tucked the flower on the label of his suit.

"That's evidence," the Auror objected.

Tom merely glanced at him, a mocking expression appearing on his handsome face. "Are you questioning my methods?" he taunted, knowing he - a private specialist - was called in because the Auror Department was deemed grossly incompetent by not having caught this high-profile thief. He bent over, picking up the vase, smirking at the Auror's sputtering that action gained. Tom turned to the representative of the museum, a tiny witch with wild bushy hair named Hermione Granger. "This is the vase you had on display?"

Ms Granger nodded.

"How can you be sure?"

She walked towards him and pointed to the bottom of the vase. "It still has its magical tag, here and here," she explained. "They can't be removed by any means."

"For as far as you know," Tom corrected, looking at the tags.

"Yes, for as far as I know," she replied snidely.

That made him look up. "You seem upset?"

"That vase is priceless, and you're being awfully cavalier with it."

"Am I?" he asked, amused, before tossing the vase towards the Auror, looking directly at Ms Granger, noticing she didn't blink at all as the panicking Auror dove to the floor to catch it.

"Are you insane?" the Auror yelled, furious.

"Am I, Ms Granger?" Tom asked.

"I don't know. You tell me," she replied blankly.

"Suddenly, you don't seem to care much about the fate of your priceless vase anymore."

"We both know it's just as priceless as any vase you can buy in Diagon Alley," Hermione said. "I have to say your reputation isn't overrated, Mr Riddle. You're the first one to notice it's a fake."

"Not the first," Riddle mused. "The Black Tulip was."

"That explains why he left it behind," the Auror interjected. "He got away with the real deal."

"I don't think so. I think the Black Tulip put the vase here on display like this because the museum displayed the fake," Tom stated.

"Poppycock," Yaxley said.

"Is it poppycock, Ms Granger?"

"Those tags are from the museum; they can be replicated, but a replication always leaves a tiny signature in the magical wavelength that's not in the original. These tags don't have that."

"Who had access to this vase since it was lend to the museum by Mrs Hepzibah Smith?"

"Only the conservator and the museum director," Hermione replied.

"Not you?"

"I only saw it on the day it was tagged and immediately put on display. You can verify that easily with the magical recordings."

"I already have," Tom said, turning away. "And I can already narrow it down to the museum director. He was the only one who was alone with the vase at some point. Conservator Malfoy always had company from an intern."

"They could've worked together," Auror Yaxley suggested.

"Unlikely," Tom and Hermione said in unison.

For a moment they shared eye contact and smiled. Yaxley looked at them with confusion.

"The intern is Percy Weasley," Hermione added.

"The feud between these two families is well-known," Tom said. "Of course it could be used as an elaborate ruse, but I've talked to both and am convinced of thier innocence. Director Black on the other hand was hiding something when I spoke with him. Now that I've seen this vase, it's clear what."

"There've been rumours the Black family's fortune has evaporated," Hermione added.

"Skeeter's gossip pages," Auror Yaxley said, his face contorting in a disgusted frown.

"Gossip pages can sometimes be essential in an investigation," Tom noted offhandedly, "whether they be correct or not."

"You're going to use it to get a confession from Black," Hermione said.

Tom gave her an approving smile. "Absolutely."

"Wait," Yaxley said, confused. "I don't understand. Director Black is the Black Tulip?"

"No," Tom and Hermione said in unison.

"Then what confession?" Yaxley turned to Tom. "You were consulted to find the Black Tulip."

"And I will," he said smoothly.

Yaxley hufffed, clearly disbelievingly.

"So the Black Tulip didn't steal; she showed the world the museum director is?" Hermione summarised.

"Yes, _she,_ " Tom emphasised, catching Hermione's eyes, "did."

"Interesting," Hermione said, not looking away, "I wonder what that tells us about all her other thefts."

"You can rest assured that I will find out," Tom replied.

Hermione smiled. "Somehow, Mr Riddle, I think you will."


End file.
